Dance of the Crane
by makoto4ever
Summary: Bruce/Crane. Crane left Gotham, resisting his criminal life as Scarecrow, and found a new life as a librarian. But when Bruce Wayne shows up, how will Crane's new life fall apart? And a forgotten past they share may yet brew understanding and healing or tragedy and death. WARNING: Yaoi and DARK Bruce behavior... at least at first. Chapters become longer (up to 5 k words) later.
1. The Librarian

Jonathan looked outside the windows with his bright blue eyes taking in the hazy beams of sunlight with mild interest; bangs of dyed, light-brown hair swayed from the breeze of the air-conditioner over his face. He smiled somewhat contentedly as he turned back down to look at the book he'd pulled from the shipment of rareties, a swell of pride blossoming up through him as he looked it over.

Crane's smile widened as well when a pair of students passed by discussing recent events in nearby Gotham. He couldn't help but chuckle on the inside at the Joker's work, and Batman's triumph over him. It would seem, that The Batman had taken over Gotham's streets, making the fun and lovely fear that had run amuck in Gotham for so long go haywire.

After escaping from Arkham Asylum before the Joker's incarceration there, Jonathan had slipped through the cracks of the system, seemingly disappearing from Gotham entirily. From there, he'd decided to play below the radar for a while, let the joker have his fun with Gotham, while he had a break. It was, of course, infuriating to be outside of Arkham, but he would only be a patient there now, not the head doctor of the asylum as he had been... It hurt his pride and even his heart, as that was where he had the most fun and felt best. But Gotham was no longer a safe place for the criminally insane.

Finding a job outside Gotham that he would be suited to was difficult, even without his want to see every living being around him writhing in fear of his gas and mask. Yet, he had somehow repressed Scarecrow, then landed a job as the head librarian of the West Chester City Library. Here, he had taken the drab, decrepit building to a renewed glory. Apholstery, furniture, window blinds, and book cases, along with the carpet and wall-paint had all been replaced or revamped withing only a few months and a low budget. Little did Crane realize he had succeeded where all others had failed, and his want to play in the backfield, unnoticed, was tossed out the window - for he was now widely discussed, even on the local news, as a prodigy of reform!

This, soon-to-become-dreadful day had started out quite nicely for the good doctor... or rather, "Librarian." He'd woken after an unprecedented good night's sleep, without intrusion by his ever present companion within his mind, and gotten through the morning's repetative tasks briskly. Breakfast, though composed of oatmeal and dried apple slices, had been pleasing enough in his silent kitchen and the shower he took wasn't to be complained about either. His arrival at the library by 8 a.m. was on time as usual, no one called off, and to his great pleasure, a shipment of rare books from Italy arrived around 11.

So what was it that would make today so displeasing?

The answer to this question burst through the unbelievably tall doors of the timeless library, effectively breaking the delicate silence of the sanctuary of books, as well as Jonathan's good mood. A crowd of poperatzie: news crews, cameras people, interviewers, newspaper journalists and one man... the man... Bruce Wayne, presented themselves through the double doors, allowing vast amounts of smoggy sunlight to pour in through the dim haze along with a tumultuous amount of noise.

Crane grimaced, moving from behind his desk to ask them to explain themselves, -quietly of course- or vacate the premises. However, as he came up to the crowd, a microphone was shoved up to his mouth, a camera far too close to his face, "! What do you think about the advances of West Chester City Library?" "Sir, what do you think about Mr. Wayne's proposal to reward you for your incredible work here and promote you!?" "Mr. Pierce, when you heard Wayne Enterprises was pulling in WC Library into it's many funded programs, what was your reaction?"

The problem here was: Crane did not own a TV. He had no spare money for such a luxery, nor would he waste his time with it on most occasions... Therefore, he had no idea what these moronic fools were talking about.

"Excuse me?" he raised a brow, "first of all, I comment Mr. Wayne for making a trip so far from Gotham, however, I must ask you all to either become silent as the grave or leave, this is a Library," he said as if it were blasphemy for someone to dare break the silence again.

The press was slightly taken aback by his cold response at first, but wasn't detered, several steering the poor librarian outside the building to ask in the open their questions. Thankfully, Bruce decided it was time to speak, "your expression seems to say this is all news to you," he stated.

Crane's blue eyes shot coldly to Bruce's bemused, arrogant ones; they were eyes that both irritated him and made him want to see them quiver in fear. His face made a smooth transition from one of irritation to the blank, no-it-all one they usually held, "Ah well, I must admit I do not frequently observe the news nor the paper other than that of the weather," he indicated his cotton brown vest and long sleeved shirt, down to his tighter than possible dark grey pants.

Bruce eyed the, vaguely familiar man as he stood there, having the most nagging of feelings that he had met this person before, though the attitude of cold distance the man seemed to portray pushed at his buttons, "I see, so fashion commercials are probably not played during the weather, are they?" Bruce was hitting a bit below the belt, even for a moderately rich person, let alone Gotham's richest man.

The bright tinge of salmon pink that spread over Mr. Pierce's face made Bruce not bother to regret the condecending comment either. "Well MR. Wayne," Pierce said acidly, "When I find the need to wear an outfit that could have fed half the homeless of Gotham's slums, it will be a sad day indeed," he sneered, "now, as for the rest of you, I have little cares as to what Mr. Wayne decides to splurge his money on. If he has come to gloat in the face of "commoners" then so be it, but if he's so very KINDLY chosen to gain cookies of gotham's favor through charity, far be it from me to stop him. As for the promotion, I am perfectly happy where I am."

At the end of that little speech, the press was quite shocked that such a tiny man, as apposed to the very big, in physicality and funds, would stand up so firmly against what should be viewed as a great act of charity.

Bruce knew he had indeed Lost some of his support just in saying such a thing about someone from a lower class on the air. He acted quickly to avert this, "Mr. Pierce, I apologize, that was pretty base of me; i sort of go over the top sometimes," he scratched his head, "would you allow me to... make some amends?" he asked, "I do believe you have done quite the job here, and was hoping you would join a charity banquet for this library and the schools being hosted in Gotham-"

He was curtly interupted by the tall, ganlgy man with a cocky lift of his jaw, "I'd rather not. I find Gotham to be a loathesome place."

"Not on the right side of town, besides, Gotham is going to become a great city one day," he smiled his truly loveable grin - which made Crane weary and gag a little in his head. His words pleased the reporters who, when editing the video would be sure to make Mr. Wayne look quite the noble man. Crane would probably not be given such kind treatment.

"What makes you think so?" he said with another cock of his head, also a slight smile coming to the corner of his lips, egging Bruce on.

"The police, and people like Harvey Dent of course," he said to please the public.

Crane smirked, "oh, surprising you don't list The Bat-Man," he said, tasting the word on his tongue.

Bruce simply smiled, "yes, The Batman too, might be another key to Gotham's revival."

Crane's eyes grew a bit more electric looking as The Scarecrow stirred inside for a moment, causing Bruce to feel again, that he knew this person. "... I suppose, if you have indeed decided it fit to spend your vast sums on this place." He took Bruce's hand when it was offered, his hand weak and cold in the hot, strong grip of Mr. Wayne. The familiarity of his hold made his inner demon roll over again.

He was no fool, and was perhaps, the only man in all of Gotham to really have the brains to figure out how painfully obvious The Batman's true identity was... but it was slowly coming to his phsyciatric-loving mind, giving him some food for thought about the possibilities.

Bruce's face lit up brightly, "then I shall see you at the Banquet tomorrow evening," he grinned knowingly, just as Jonathan's face lit up over the bridge of his nose again, "T-tomorrow!?" he squeaked in indignaty, "how can you assume I have nothing else to do Mr. Wayne!? I'm a very busy man!"

"Because, the library will be closed tomorrow for new lighting I've bought," Brude said to the pleasure of the public.

Crane grit his teeth a moment behind closed, puffy lips. Bruce couldn't help but find it amusing how his lips turned a brighter red than pink when the man was flustered. "I guess then, I find myself with a clear schedule... how convenient..." he said slowly in defeat.

"Yes, quite convenient," Mr. Wayne said with the quickest of smirks before turning to leave the librarian in "peace." Tomorrow, at least, the boring pretenses of playing his role would be made slightly more interesting with the inclusion of a certain, wild little bookworm.

"This is a bad day...." Crane grimaced to himself as he turned in to go take some asprin and read a book about barbarians slaughtering eachother to make him feel better.


	2. Orderves Sir?

Disclaimer: I do not own the Batman series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Please pleas please review and/or add some requests or ideas! You know you're boiling over with ideas, i know it too, so gimme :P *********************************************************

It was definately a plus, Jonathan found, that he'd managed to save his old suit from Arkham. Of course, he was intelligent enough to switch the white inner shirt for a green one, and the black tie for white. He couldn't chance anyone he knew seeing and recognizing him there, for it was likely that despite the Joker's higher infamy, that Dr. Crane had Many old acquaintances, allies, and foes within Gotham City.

After he had prepared himself with decent clothes for an evening of fraternizing with people he deemed far below himself and disgustingly ignorant of the instability of their so-called "power," he resigned himself to drive back down familiar streets to the highways and roads of upper Gotham. All too soon, he was arriving at the "Banquet" on the top floor of some overly exquisite hotel. Its rich marble floors and columns reaching up to fresco-painted ceilings and golden-tinted countertops sent goose bumps up his arms. This was no place for the likes of him, and The Scarecrow was displeased as well, giving Dr. Crane a sick feeling in his gut.

Despite the sick taste these types of things gave him, he knew them well enough from his days as the famed head of Arkham to know how to blend into this crowd. If one simply held himself in a visibly confident way, while dressed and speaking in an educated manner, one would seemlessly fit in. Jonathan not only blended in, but excelled at these pretences - being the perfect actor he was.

He found his way through the thralls of guests on the lower floor, then up the glittering, reflective elevator to the top floor. Stepping out into the ballroom created precisely for the purposes of this type of gathering, Jonathan had to hold back a sneer of utter hatred. "Charity..." he whispered unbelievably as he shook his head. The guests were dressed far better than himself, thousand dollar suits, million dollar jewelry and dresses, hundreds of dollars in makeup and hair-dos...

"Orderves sir?" asked one of the hotel workers, showing him a classy white tray of bruschetta.

"I'd rather not, thank you," he said with a cold tone.

This was a world Crane wanted to see topple over, and quake in the primitiveness of fear, devour itself until there was nothing left... The Scarecrow opened his eyes for a brief moment, Jonathan's cold eyes shining with excitement and promised violence for just a fraction of a second before the monster was buried, and a hand came to rest upon Jonathan's shoulder, "Mr. Pierce, decided to show up after all, eh?"

He didn't have to turn, though he did, to know who it was. "Yes, although I must say I feel despairingly underdressed for the .. occasion," he said, face ever dripping with smugness that made Bruce want to both laugh and punch him at the same time.

"Hm," Bruce gave a smile, "I think your attire is at least, acceptable."

"Oh thank you oh so much Mr. Wayne," he said with a roll of his eyes.

"Orderves sir?" A bowl of chocolates from Sweden were waved before him.

"No thank you..." he frowned at the bowl, eye twitching.

"Will you do me a favor?" Bruce asked as he led the librarian over to a round table, around which were amassed a number of Mr. Wayne's "friends."

"That depends," he said stiffly, eyeing the rich Playboy with an almost paranoid gaze.

"Hahaha! Don't be so serious! I just want you to call me Bruce; Mr. Wayne makes this sound like a business meeting."

"Orderves sir?" asked a woman, offering out a shining silver platter of cheese from somewhere no doubt foreign and expensive.

"NO," he glowered at her, then turned his attention, once again to Mr. Wayne. "... It basically IS a business meeting, BRUCE," he said, now eyeing the expectant look in the mill- bill- trillionaire's eyes, "what?" he asked as he continued to get the stare down.

"Your first name, Mr. Pierce?" he looked as though he was insulted to offer his own first name and not receive it from the other.

"Ah, I see," he said with a certain smug look that said he'd known what the man was seeking, but would refrain from giving it so easily. "Hm, I will say, it is a common name, you're free to guess. Won't that make the evening interesting?" he asked.

Bruce laughed all the way to his seat, pulling out Mr. Pierce's chair, knowing how it would set those blue eyes ablaze with a silent fury. As the poor librarian took the seat begrugingly so, a waiter in a suit more expensive than Crane's car appeared at his side, "Orderves sir?"

Bruce laughed even harder when the man's ears lit up red in such a show of clear irritation, "No! Not now! Nor for the remainder of the evening!"

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XD I love making poor Crane flustered within character find out what dinner's like in chapter 3!


	3. A Man of Many Names

Disclaimer: I do not own the Batman series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Soon there will be more... adult action, but not quite yet, i trust avid readers to take my love of plot and character development with the knowledge that I love the LOVE just as much as you all!

Please pleas please review and/or add some requests or ideas! You know you're boiling over with ideas, i know it too, so gimme :P

Was it that the greater forces truly hated him, and felt it was prudent to torture him with an unbelievably long dinner? Salads, breads, soup, meat, side dishes, deserts, and alcohol were served in prime order over the course of 3 hours to allow for talk between guests... and it had only just begun; for much to Jonathan's dismay, Bruce had asked the entire table to help him try to discover Mr. Pierce's first name, by calling him any common name they could think of.

Jonathan sighed as he ate, daintilly so, not quite finishing everything that was set upon his plate. Bruce noted, that the prude ate much like a bird, pecking at the food like a picky child, not clearing his plate; no wonder the man was so puny! His wrists, Bruce could see, could so easily be held by one large hand, making him seem almost breakable. If it weren't for the icy persona, he would have wondered why he had no ring upon his finger, no guest to bring to dinner. He smiled as a woman asked the question instead.

"So! Eric! Do tell us, are you, like Mr. Wayne, one of Gotham's elligible bachelors?" She smiled, face wrinkled and seemingly kind. Jonathan knew better than to trust it.

He looked once around the table with a scanning of his darting blues, then lifted his chin in that more-than-slightly arrogant fashion, "My lady, I've neither the time nor the patience for a companion," it was here noticed by Bruce he had not said woman, girl, or wife... "My love is for my work."

"But surely someone is held dear to such a fine man as yourself, Tom?" urged another.

"Ah, then my peers of youth would greatly disagree with you," he smiled, as if it were a joke only he knew the punchline to.

"And why is that Max?" asked Bruce, unable to hold back his curiousity.

His eye twitched fot the umpteenth time this evening, looking at Bruce with slight contempt, "Unlike a man with such funds and looks as yourself, where one could only see fit to have a woman for EACH arm, I have had neither the luck of a prosperous birth nor the looks to make up for it. I have had to WORK for everything I've ever had." There was a sad, deeper truth to the words he spoke, something only Bruce would be able to notice, while the rest realized it was a direct slap in Bruce's face, which caused some to scoff, blush,smile, or pucker their lips.

Bruce frowned at the attack on his unwanted lifestyle, a frown quite triumphantly noticed by Jonathan. "Surely, David, you are not so unwantable as you see yourself, am I right?" he asked the table.

"Yes quite so! Turning around that library was no small feat Andrew!" Intoned a man with a handlebar mustasche, tinged with grey.

By now, Crane was truly detesting his idea about not giving Bruce his name, but he wasn't about to give in either. He just smiled, "thank you for thinking so," he said with a forced appreciative tone.

After dessert came, which was composed of a strawberry chesecake that Crane actually accepted without a sneer, much to Bruce's pleasure, came a performance group of magicians. Jonathan was not quite amused by them, so contented himself to drinking a strangely colored drink offered to him. It tasted sweet, like a mixture of berries and banana, along with something tangy that burned his throat delightfully.......

"Kevin? Jake? Paul? Steve? Alex? Brian? Ryan?..." came an unexpected multitude of names into his ear making him choke a little, just to keep the Scarecrow from bursting out to protect Dr. Crane. He looked to the side with just his eyes, and then rolled them as Bruce was a centimeter from his face as they "watched" the show. It caused the bridge of his nose to brighten again, as well as his lips.

"Really Bruce, I think you've lost the game already," he said with a forcibly calm voice, "I'll give you but three more guesses before I won't allow you to call me anything but Mr. Pierce. Besides, you're completely unoriginal in your attempts to discover that which you want to know," he smiled just barely.

"Oh really?" he smiled then sat back to contemplate his last guesses. While Crane sipped his enjoyable drink, he asked a waiter for the list of hotel guests for the evening. As the next half hour wore on with several people making unwanted idle chit-chat with the exasperated librarian, Bruce studied the long list down until he smirked at the name upon the paper. He returned the list, and watched the cold man getting less cold and slightly more pink in the cheeks. It was highly amusing to see, for he assumed the man had no IDEA how much alcohol was within that one small glass, and that sipping from the dainty straw only got the alcohol in faster.

When poor Mr. Pierce's head began to nod, slipping sideways slightly, Bruce decided to save him the embarassement of passing out on the floor. He stood and brought his hands to those small shoulders, "Edward Jonathan Pierce," he smirked, causing those bright blue eyes to dart up in surprise, "come on, i'll rescue you from this place, what do you say?"

"Take me away batty.." he mumbled, eyes dimming a bit... who knew he was such a lightweight for simple alcohol?

"Batty?" Bruce frowned, nervouse somehow he'd been outed.

"Yeah... As in, 'You drive me batty,' you annoying, spoiled, Playboy..." he said with the most distaste he could muster, and it only made Mr. Wayne laugh as they headed off to "Edward's" room for the night.

************************  
Crane feels a bit.. drunk!  
Despite what you may think, no, they don't have drunken love D:  
slash is to come quite soon, since i could either have 5 short chapters of development then slash, or one maaaaaaaaaaaassive chapter of development and loose everyone's interest before a slashy chapter 2. I hope i chose the lesser of 2 evils.


	4. Man Candy?

Disclaimer: I do not own the Batman series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Bruce opened the door to the librarian's suite, helping in the man leaning his full (small) weight against him. "You sure can't hold your liquer, for all your big talk," he smirked. Crane was NOT amused, but just held a hand out pointing to the bed. "Bed."

Bruce laughed as he got there and let "Edward" fall onto the soft, luxurious comforter of red and golden French design. "You're lucky to get a room on this floor," he smiled.

"No ahm not.." he grumbled glasses slipping down to the very tip of his nose, "all the others were taken, due to a certain zillionaire's guests..." he frowned.

"HAHAHA, well, it is MY hotel and they are MY guests, wouldn't want anyone driving home through Gotham, drunk and weighed down with pearls and expensive cars, would I?" he reasoned.

Crane had to think about that one before he actually nodded, "that's probably... the most considerate thing you've said all evening." He closed his eyes as the Scarecrow poked at his control through the liquered haze. He took a deep shuddering breath to keep him at bay, to keep who he was hidden, to keep his fake sanity, to try to be Normal just for a small fraction of his life. He opened his eyes after a few to see Bruce still there now wiggling a bottle of asprin in his face.

He eyed the medication, hardly able to focus with his glasses not in his line of sight. He took three, along with the glass of water Bruce offered him, and swallowed them down before rolling over onto his back, eyes following the slow revolution of the fan. He stayed that way for a while until he felt hands on his chest, making him jerk, grasping the wrist roughly, eyes wide.

"Jeez it's alright you twitchy little bird, i'm just helping you get your tie and jacket off, it'll help," Bruce said, "It's so obvious: You've never been drunk in your life have you Edward?"

He scoffed and looked indignant, "Right, because a respectable person should have gotten drunk at least once in his life right? You derelict, man-candy!"

"Man-candy?" He raised a brow, a grin spreading across his face.

"Precisely... that's what the women call you," he said like it was common knowledge. He tried to sit up while Bruce worked at removing the tie from around that long, effeminate neck, then shrugged himself free of his hot jacket. True to Bruce's word, he did feel better, and the alcohol seemed to loose some effect, "that is better..."

"Told you," he smirked, finding Edward's dishevelled look quite... appealing. From his long skinny legs up slightly boney hips, over a ... oh my...

The man's shirt had ridden up slightly to show off beautiful pale white skin, tinged with a little peachy-pink... a toned stomach, though it was less hard than it was soft looking, perhaps a little baby fat still clinking there to give his scrawny body a relatively healthier look. But far more surpising to Bruce was the happy trail leading from just below Edward's navel down to the brim of his pants... It wasn't the expected light brown of his hair... no, it was pure black, soft, but definately BLACK.

"You're not a natural brunette...." he smirked, looking up at the bookworm with a truly teasing face.

Jonathan looked down to see his revealing body, "oh, well no, i... prefer brown..." he said, though he, in truth, missed his black, slick hair that fell over his eyes, rather than the soft, light brown. Scarecrow too hated it, and missed the foreboding color.

Bruce's eyes narrowed slightly, something nagging at the back of his mind that there was something about this person... something seriously important. He looked into those bright blue eyes, fighting the sudden urge to find out just how soft those puffy lips were, as he focused on what this person would look like with black hair...

He got up and turned off the lights, "Get some rest, you're invited to breakfast tomorrow morning before you head home." He looked at him once more in the dark and he saw the answer to the riddle... that black hair due to the night, those eyes like lightening turned solid, cocky, bird-like head movements, those feminine features... He had to be sure!

He left quickly, swiping Jonathan's glass he'd taken the asprin with to check his prints....

Jonathan was left to hazily crawl under the covers after removing the rest of his clothes but his pants, and fall into a fitful sleep dans la chambre of the enemie's hotel.


	5. Perhaps Some Earl Grey Tea

Disclaimer: I do not own the Batman series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Glad he'd had the brilliance to drop a recording device behind Edward's room's couch after his initial suspicions, Bruce high-tailed it home the moment he shut "Edward's" door. He could hardly believe what his eyes were telling him:

Could Edward Jonathan Pierce really be Dr. Jonathan Crane? The Scarecrow who had vanished for nearly a year? If so, what was he planning to do in a library of all places? What sort of scheming was he coming up with now?

He growled at the thought of having been duped, even somewhat turned on by him. If that was indeed Crane in there, Batman would be in that room by morning to beat the living shit out of him, after getting him to spill whatever he was planning, then, only after kicking his ass would he dump him off at the Asylum.

In the Batcave, he set up the glass on the 3D imaging scanner, searching for fingerprints to cross reference with Police data. While it scanned, he brought up a picture of Dr. Crane, then one of Mr. Pierce. Using a face matching program, he overlay the pictures with one another to find out if the faces were indeed the same.

He accepted a cup of hot, Earl Grey tea from Alfred who looked up at the computer at work. "Master Bruce, what has you away from the Hotel so quickly?"

"I think... that librarian from West Chester might just be the Scarecrow..." he said with a frown.

"You mean Dr. Crane i presume?" he corrected him in that ever respectful and loved English accent.

Bruce raised a brow, then took another gulp of tea, "Is there a difference? They're the same."

"Well Master Bruce, I do think there is a difference. For you, for instance, the Batman and Bruce Wayne are two entirely different entities, although one is more WHO you are than the other. I believe, though I'm no psychiatrist, that this character is somewhat the same, but much more conflicted. Remember, he's been deemed insane, so his actions, motives, and feelings are all incredibly skewed, so he may not truly understand the things he thinks or does, even though he's a genius. You'll do well to be careful who it is you're dealing with when you confront this man." He spoke wisely, as always; he was so much a father as well as mentor, "The Scarecrow, you said is a creature thriving off fear and instinct, but the Doctor is an incredible intellect, dangerous and cold; just be careful Mr. Wayne, I think he's not quite as dangerous as the Joker, but not far from it if you push the wrong button."

"I suppose you're right," he said as he observed the overlays of the two faces coming together, resulting in a perfect match. The fingerprints were too smudged to match, which wasn't too disapointing, as he could just find another item with Edward's fingerprints on them to identify.

"What do you think made Dr. Crane insane anyway Alfred?" Bruce asked, pulling up the Doctor's records and finding him clear of any offence, though the information about his life was next to nothing.

"who knows," he shrugged, "To be frank, there are children who've had it far worse than yourself, and look at the way you've lived your life. Look at the criminals you pull off the streets, and consider that some of those people are parents, or were once children. Not all criminals were born evil: they were made, by people we think of as "civil"."

Bruce scratched his chin then thought about that, "what would make someone believe fear was the ruler of all human actions? That fear was the only way to control people?" He studied the solemnly cold expression of those blue orbs set in the pale face of both Cranes, trying to unravel the mystery that was the Scarecrow.

To help solve this, he pulled up the radio transmission of the recording device he'd hidden in Edward's room...

Meanwhile, said male was twitching in his sleep, trying desperately to be at peace, but his mind went to his savior and tormenter. Memories all too vivid flickered past his eyelids like an old inescapable movie. His lips let out a tiny sound, like a child wanting out of an unpleasant dream.

His body twitched, struggling with the alcohol, asprin, memories, and the scarecrow without the benefit of a concious mind. More small protesting noises of disturbance slowly passed his lips. Alfred frowned, "as interesting as listening to someone's sleep may be to you, Master Wayne, isn't it a bit... too personal, even if he is a criminal?"

"No, because he IS a criminal," he rationalized.

Crane suddenly let out a cry, likely heard by at least one neighbor unless they were perhaps heavy sleepers. Bruce's eyes turned back to the screen to listen, "Haaaaaah!" came the shrill cry again.

"I should have hooked him up with a heart monitor..." Bruce observed, "Why's he sound so..."

"Scared?" Alfred added, "maybe "fear" rules his mind more than anything."

"But why is he crying out in sleep? Nightmares?"

"Doubtful, it sounds a lot more like night terrors."

"night terrors?"

"You see Master Wayne," he began, "infants and toddlers are known to sometimes experience night terrors." Bruce pulled up a page about it on a small screen while Alfred continued, "it goes away, usually with age. A night terror isn't like a nightmare. Children usually can't remember a thing about it, but when they wake up their parents due to screaming, they're found with nothing but wide eyes and no recollection of what terrified them so."

"So you say this is more than a nightmare? Guilt?"

"No, the Doctor is probably suffering something much worse."

A shrill shriek was followed by banging on the door, "Sir are you alright!? What's going on in there!?"

Crane gasped awake, breath noticably loud and ragged, audible on the recorder. "Sir!?" it came again, more urgent.

"I'm fine!" He spat out, in a would be icy tone, but it was shaken.

"Can I come in? Can we get you anything? Do you need the police? An ambulence?" came the concerned voice.

Jonathan sighed, a creak coming from the bed as he got up, stumbling, "Fuck... where are my glasses....?" he whispered aloud, before finding them and shoving them on before the door was heard to be unlatched and opened.

Bruce waited to hear the reaction, taking a swig of tea, then grinned, pulling up the hotel's security cameras. (It was so convenient that he could pull up security footage from any building he owned... truly convenient indeed.) He looked for the one on Crane's floor, smiling as one was located not 10 feet from the guest of interest's door.

There stood a (deliciously) disheveled librarian, glasses almost slipping off his face, hair sticking up at funny angles, and tight pants hanging low, with one sock on and the other foot bare. Bruce had to hide his smile.

"I'm fine, it was a nightmare. I have an embarassing history of having them when i sleep somewhere unfamiliar," he lied seemlessly, "Do apologize to the other guests for me." He raised a hand to smooth out his hair and push up his glasses, adding to the believeability of his story.

"Can I not bring you anything? Coffee?" he offered.

"No coffee, perhaps some Earl Grey tea," he said with such dignity that Bruce almost fell over with silent laughter.


	6. Strange Rhyme

Disclaimer: I do not own the Batman series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

First of all, i am very angry because i type the story directly on here... so i accidentally ... refreshed the page and lost the whole damn chapter... sigh so starting over, we'll see how well it goes...

Some may think that Dr. Crane's two personalities may carry on audible conversations. But this was not the case. Their struggle was of one person with two conflicting thoughts at any one moment, one semi-normal, self-preserving, calculating, skeptical, another paranoid, cruel, and obsessed with fear and control. Their intermingled existance made up the man called Crane, but the good doctor was, at any second either following one side of his personality, or the one called Scarecrow.

Right now, as he attempted to fall back asleep, was one of those times where he was closer to falling beneath that side's control, or rather, ideas. Scarecrow did not exist to Control Jonathan, rather he was Jonathan, just the side that was created, rather than born.  
He was the side affected by all the world had done to him coupled with existing brain defects... but Crane had never sought help. It was widely accepted that psychologists should never assess themselves, lest they give themselves psychosomatic illnesses - symptoms of illness by Believing you had the illness. In the business of criminal psychology, this would be a dangerous thing to do. But far, far before Arkham Asylum, he had had this split in his psyche.

The internal struggle was shown often by a listless expression; mind drifting off, followed by long spells of unresponsiveness; strange, jerky or slow, bird-like movements so typical to him that people associated it with cockiness; lack of sleep, comfort, and appetite; somewhat OCD tendancies; and restless sleep.

Bruce listened to the sounds of the man in the room as he threw himself into a red camero, speeding back towards the hotel at speeds over twice the posted limit.

Edward's breathing was slightly labored as he sat in the darkness, hundreds of images flying through his mind, some of the past, some wants, some ideas and just words. Only once did he whisper, "silence!" in a commanding tone, followed by a slowing of that ragged breathing. Finally, he stood, "Ridiculous!" he whispered, throwing his things hurriedly back into his suitcase - or rather quickly, specifically folding them into it - then gathering his suitcase and briefcase together. He opened the door roughly to leave only to smack right into the broad chest of noneother than Bruce Wayne.

"Wah!?" he gasped at the sudden intrusion and shoved him away with suddenly strong arms, "STOP doing that!"

"Doing what?" Bruce chuckled.

"..."

"Doing... WHAT?" he asked again, taking a few steps closer.

"Nothing, please excuse me I'm leaving..."

"Where are you going so late?"

"What are you doing up so late?"

"I was down playing a game of poker when a worker informed me of a disturbance on the floor and told me who had caused it, so I came to see if you truly were alright or if your stubborness had permitted you from asking for help," he reasoned to cover his knowledge of everything... He still felt the nagging want to punch the cocky little bird in the face.

"That's quite an extensive reason," he sneered, "but I'm perfectly alright as you can see, and I want to go home."

Bruce raised a brow, "is the room not good enough? I told you that you're invited to breakfast, you can't just leave. I want to talk more," he chuckled.

"I don't give a flying swiss chocolate and a half a drink what you want, you disgustingly wealthy, brownie-point hording, womanizing pig." Boy was the librarian in a bad mood or what?!

A hand shot out gripping his hair roughly, tipping his head back harshly, causing Crane to cry out in shock, neck aching from the arch forced on it. His eyes shot wide and vibrant as Bruce growled at him, seriously angered by the bastard's presumptions. He pulled back his fist and let loose his angry fist, causing his little head to jerk to the side. He pulled back again for another, just as Crane started to laugh, a tiny tear forming at the corner of his left eye, spilling over down his high cheekbone, "Again, again, again, ever again..." he whispered.

"What?" Bruce looked confused, but still posed to pop him one.

"Round and through, they claim their due, and little ones fall to the floor..." he rhymed hysterically, before shock and sleep claimed him.

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	7. Bringing Home a Pet

Disclaimer: I do not own the Batman series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Don't forget to Review and Rate, or send me your ideas.... i might actually get to some action this chapter! I'm certainly getting to the abuse XD (P.S. i'm watching The Crow: Salvation and ish amazing lawl)

P.P.S. I HAVE glasses, and fully understand the difficulty in seeing when one's glasses are taken away; I have

"Round and through, they claim their due, and little ones fall to the floor..." he rhymed hysterically, before shock and sleep claimed him.

Bruce couldn't help himself, perhaps it was all of his anger, or his confussion, or his own bout of madness that let him proceed to hit him after that. He hated this person; hated him for being so confusing, for making him want him for his own, making HIM feel like the real criminal. He lifted his fist "again, again, again, ever again," until he'd burst into his own tears, for reasons he couldn't understand.

He lifted his fist again only to realize how over the top he'd gone. Blood dripped from his fist, as hee looked back down at Crane's bloodied lip, black eye, bruising cheek. He realized, he really had beat the shit out of him... And worse yet, Crane was now staring at him...

Bruce's eyes widened as those lips parted, "The..." he swallowed some blood in a disgustingly gargled sound, "The Bat-man...." he whispered, bright blue eyes looking both terrified and challenging, surprised and venomous.

He started to laugh, or rather, his Scarecrow side began to laugh, head rolling side to side. Bruce growled, grabbing his hair again, slamming the back of his head to the floor to knock him out. He picked him up, pressing a button on his watch to call for his Real car. It came screeching up the road, tearing out of the night like a (literally and figuratively) bat out of Hell. Bruce held the tiny unconcious form of Dr. Crane as he jumped from their floor, repelling down to the Tumbler, which opened for their entrance, sealing over them once Bruce and his captee were nestled inside. He shoved his foot onto the accelerator, heading home.

He glanced at the bleeding bird that was twitching slightly in its sleep. He blinked as he realized the glasses were missing, "haha... I wonder how bad those eyes really are," he chuckled to himself, knowing it would piss the doctor off.

The Tumbler jumped the gap through the waterfall into the hidden cave where Alfred was ready with a cup of tea. He got out, silent and ashamed, moving around to the other side of the vehicle as Alfred looked at him curiously. "I hope, Master Bruce, you haven't brought home a pet; You're not around often enough to give it love and care." He chuckled, remembering the days the young master would bring home animals and take care of their injuries.

"Not quite Alfred," Bruce said quietly, pulling out the unconcious male out, Jonathan's head hanging, long neck arched, showing of his adam's apple along with fingerlike bruises.

"Good God Master Wayne, what's this?" Alfred got up quickly and came over. Bruce didn't quite answer. "Did he attack you?"

"Not quite..." He answered.

Alfred looked at him concernedly, "You've never beaten even criminals like this... You knock them out and disable them. What happened?"

"I honestly don't know... I lost my temper Alfred."

"Lost your temper!? Bruce, this is ridiculous! You can't take your role as Batman and just 'loose your temper' or you're no better than they are!"

Bruce grimmaced at the accusation and knew somewhere deep down that Aflred was right, but he burried it under the name of justice... Maybe that's why Crane angered him so... he brought out the worse in Bruce... the worst of Batman.

He lay Jonathan down onto a desk, handcuffing his wrists to either side, in case he got dangerous. Alfred took the tea tray and gave Bruce a disappointed look, before walking over to the elevator shaft. Bruce stood still beside the frail boy, picking up some gauze to wipe off his busted lip.

Crane shuddered at the touch, his lip quivering. His long black lashes fluttered slightly but he did not wake. Bruce growled at one of the soft brown locks of his hair, angry at it for being anything but black. He made a mental note to make it return to it's original color soon.

Jonathan suddenly jerked awake, "SCARECROOOOOOW!!!" He shrieked, mouth open wide in fear, "HAaaaaaaahhh!" He jerked at the handcuffs, breathing increasing dramatically. Bruce frowned, standing back in the shaddows. Crane got quieter, letting the Scarecrow take over the sittuation, flipping backwards, cutting his wrist on the handcuffs, but was now standing, hands on the sides of the table.

Bruce came forwards, "Good Evening Dr. Crane..." He wasn't about to allow him slip away. Crane's eyes grew wider, for Bruce was dressed as the Batman now.

He backed away, table dragging with him slightly, "Stay away!" He dropped down pushing the table up to slide the handcuffs off the legs. He got them off and wheeled around to run, only to look up to see the Batman looming over him, a foot connecting to his stomach causing him to gasp, falling backwards to his back. He spat blood from his mouth, rolling away before the Bat could land another blow. Crane was up in a flash, posed strangely, a wrist out... it was as if he were trying to take a kungfu style, but it was his own; a combination of the crane and mantis.

Bruce laughed coldly to himself, as the Doctor took a step back, looking around even though Bruce wasn't more than five feet away. It was dark, and Jonathan's eyes, though emiting a light of their own were unsure, darting about. All he saw was a blur of shapes, and a lack of colors, and double... everything double. "Where are my glasses!?" he demanded angrilly. In public, when he had been a doctor, he'd worn contacts.

Bruce shrugged, "I think they had an accident."

Crane growled, "Let me out of here, I'll call the police! What do you want?"

Batman chuckled, "Edward... or should I say Jonathan? The police won't help YOU."

He stopped for a moment, knowing he was fully exposed, and grit his teeth. He knew he shouldn't have come back to Gotham. He saw a blur moving towards him and gasped, unable to see right. He skrewed his eyes shut, trying to calm his breathing to focus. The Batman's footsteps were silent, but his cape made a ruffle, and he shot his eyes open dashing away from it, trying to discern what was ground, wall and air as he stumbled away.

And then, The Batman was in front of him. He shoved at him, to get away but found his wrists ensnared by strong, large gloved hands. He gasped, jerking back but couldn't move. His eyes darted up to the mask over Bruce's face, a sudden smirk coming over his face, "And they tell me I'm the crazy one with the mask," he whispered.

A fist grasped that long hair again, then a black cape came over him and everything went black again....

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I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. Poor Crane's so abused yay :D

Review and Rate plz


	8. Animal Abuse

Disclaimer: I do not own the Batman series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

P.S. chapters do get longer, as you'll see, I didn't really get the length going till later, but didn't want to combine chapters. Why? b/c I want the chapters to match with

Yay for action, abuse, and fun times with the bat and the bird!

Poor Jonathan came to with a massive headache, eyes opening to a swirling world of dark stones above him. He whimpered as he rolled over to his side, noticing a stale, coppery taste in his mouth, cold on his lips and chin. His eyes focused on the dark liquid on the floor; he had a sneaky suspicion that it was blood, and probably his blood.

A sudden shining light hit his sensitive eyes, making him squint and shift to hide his eyes. The sound of expensive shoes clunking on the stone met his ears until they stopped just beside him. He looked up with one eye, a swimmy blur of a man's form loomed above. Crane's mouth was open panting slightly as he laughed very quietly, "what's a bat to do?" he giggled.

For that remark he received a smirk, as Bruce lowered down beside him, then backhanded him across the mouth. "uah!" he gasped, then laughed, "Who'd have thought!? Bruce Wayne! ahahaa!" he giggled hysterically until he was awarded with a fist in his stomach. He moaned, rolling into a fetal position coughing.

Bruce's rough hand held his face down hard against the stone floor, fingers curled tight and painful in his hair, "ahh! let go!" he hissed, as this near obsession with gripping Jonathan's hair was getting beyond irritating, not to mention the entire situation was... unfavorable to say the least.

"You're crazier than I!" he laughed insanely, so lost between the scared crane, and the highly amused Scarecrow. The doctor in him was having a field day, "What is it Bruce?" he laughed, gasping for breath, "ahah... what is it makes you so angry?" he rolled his head. Bruce grabbed him by the front of his shirt, lifting him up from the cold floor. "I see a scared little spoiled rich boy," he giggled, "Do you think you've suffered the most huh Batty?"

"Shut up you little bird!" he growled in his ear, giving Him an animal name too.

"Ahahaha am I your pet?! Hahaha this is animal abuse! Call the ASPCA! Call PITA!"

For this Bruce was sent over the edge, slamming him into the corner. Crane's face was scraped against ragged stone, groaning, tasting fresh blood on his lips. He was giggling until he felt his hands handcuffed behind his back. His wrists were burning already, now shooting pain up his arms to his shoulders.

He struggled, trying to kick out at him. A hand still in his hair pulled his head back, smashing it back into the corner, making him dizzy. "You should be my patient," he giggled, "i'll give you a f-free psychoanalysis!"

Bruce smirked wrapping his arms around to his front, quickly grabbing his belt and unbuckling it. That certainly made Crane shut up fast, eyes widening, "Analyze This, DOCTOR," Bruce whispered in his ear, pressing his hips roughly against him.


	9. Analyze This

Disclaimer: I do not own the Batman series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

woo yay more abuse :3

"Analyze This, DOCTOR," Bruce whispered in his ear, pressing his hips roughly against him.

Doctor Crane froze, a cold sweat breaking out on his brow. He had never, in his wildest (and they were quite wild, being insane) dreams have expected something like this from Bruce for a number of reasons:

Bruce Wayne was Gotham's supreme Playboy figure; he was bachelor number one, the man every girl in the city would gladly bend over for if only it meant they could hang on his arm for one evening, to mooch off his money. Bruce flaunted his money and his ability to have any woman he wanted; having two women to every party, or in one case, taking the whole Russian Ballet out on a private yacht. These things were not something those who swung on that side did.

On the other side of Wayne's existence was the Batman, whom Crane would also not have expected this from. He was Gotham's savior of the people, foe of all villainry, a statue of justice, a hero, the Dark Knight... To think this man would stoop to the level of abduction, abuse, and now possible rape was unthinkable. That, and what would possess the man to have time to think with his loins when his beloved city so desperately needed his guidance?

Besides, people who acted like Mr. Wayne did in public were usually trying to make up for something. He was clearly not trying to make up for cash or looks... so the things other than that could include small lower... "endowment," low self-esteem and self-hatred or loathing, among other things. It was up to Doctor Crane to try to make sense of the situation.

What was clear to his calculating mind was several facts:

A) This was no bluff; the Batman and Bruce Wayne for that matter gained nothing from faking a sexual interest in a helpless prisoner.  
B) Though Jonathan was so far unsure as to what would even SPARK the man to think of sex in this situation, and with a criminal like Crane, he was possitive that this was at least part of the reason he was being so roughly handled.  
C) Bruce was crazy :D

As for Dr. Crane? He'd never really considered his own sexuality, if it was even existant at all. However... if there was one criminal type he avoided treating or contacting in Arkham, it had been the sexual offenders, especially those with bi or gay tendancies. No one really knew why, though they'd assumed it discusted him too greatly or perhaps he was homophobic. On the contrary, he didn't care who "loved" or had sex with who. Rather, he was terrified of the exact situation he'd just found himself in... This was one of his rampant fears, and it manifested itself now in his one greatest enemy.

He analyzed this in a manner of seconds as he stood still as stone, no ragged breaths, no sarcastic remarks, no laughter. This was not funny to the Scarecrow or Jonathan; this was one thing they agreed on.

Bruce smiled at his lack of movement, and proceeded to unbutton and zip down the tiny bird's pants. The sound of the zipper seemed to snap Jonathan back to the present, upon which he began to jerk to get himself free. He threw himself backwards, knocking Bruce away as he himself fell to his back. He brought his legs up, knees to his shoulders and wiggled his arms overhis rear then feet. He accomplished getting his arms in front of himself protectively and Bruce laughed, quite impressed, but simply came to him, and decked him in the back of his neck. Out once more, the bird was kicked before Bruce went to bring in a better way to keep his prey down.

This room was part of the batcave as a precaution, in case he ever had to keep a criminal at his home, and the storeroom was supplied with useful detainers such as cuffs, robe, leather buckles, gags... finally he found what he was looking for. It was white, with at least ten buckles: a straightjacket.

He walked back into the room, smiling down at the object of his obsession. He lifted the small male to a sit, unlocking the cuffs and strapping him up. He also smiled slightly as he put Crane's arms to his back rather than front, which would cause more soreness and pain, but he was still angry at the man for bringing out this madness in him, for spraying him with fear gas not long ago, for nearly burning him to a crisp.

Once he was strapped up, Bruce picked him up and lay him on a thin blanket in another corner before sitting on the floor in the other corner, staring his prisoner down, waiting for him to awake.

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	10. Alone in the Dark

Disclaimer: I do not own the Batman series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Yeah, my comp desided to restart on me and i lost the damn chapter again! D:  
Plz rate and review!

This time he was prepared, oh yes. He'd learned that whenever he woke, he seemed to be knocked out again not long after. This time, he wouldn't allow that, no. Dr. Crane eased into conciousness carefully, trying to avoid the painful throbbing he now felt in his wrists up to his shoulers; it felt like they were breaking off, while his fingers buzzed with numbness. He could feel his sore lips, chapped and broken, knowing to move them yet would be asking for more damage. He kept his breathing level, eyes shut tight to feign unconciousness and set to thinking of a plan.

His thoughts were of being ready to attack and escape the moment he opened his eyes. He had to get away from the bat's domain to regain his freedom; that much was certain. He planned to knock his captor out first then make his run for it. He was good at running, fleeing from danger.

Thoughts soon drifted to the man in the mask, wondering about him with an analytical eye. He couldn't be suffering from dissociative identity disorder like the good doctor was. The Batman knew of his actions and willingly took up the role of batman like a man would the role of police officer. Crane and the Scarecrow were two very specific personality states sometimes suffering impaired recall of certain actions the other half would do; balancing a duet of conflict and agreement together. It was a morbid tango.

Neither, thought the doctor, was it of the schizoid or delusional nature, for the man wasn't living in a fantasy world. It took no genius to imagine the "Dangers" of Gotham. The monsters were real and he'd taken up the mask to battle for the city.

An undiagnosed case of autism was out of the question, for Bruce Wayne was far too comfortable in the social setting for this; which also ruled out social anxiety disorders.

Panic attacks weren't the case for Bruce he was sure, for he didn't show signs of the random bouts of terror or paranoia like Crane did....

Funny he could assess others, knowing he showed the typical signs of them himself, but was able to look over them; they weren't important for Himself, for he Knew who he was. It was others who were confused, others who interested him, others he couldn't trust unless he analyzed everything about them.

Ah! Perhaps Bruce was now suffering a case of Brief psychotic disorder! That would explain his atypical behaviors recently. Batman didn't beat his enemies like this; he didn't imprison them; he turned them in after knocking them out efficiently. But to Crane, he'd abducted him, beaten and threatened him sexually... these weren't things the "sane" Bruce would do. There were obvious underlying problems he would like to discover if he could strap the other to a table and pick at his mind. But that was unlikely.

What he could infer from the recent events was severe anger was rolling off him in waves. It could be the recent death of his childhood friend: Rachel something-or-other... He recalled with an internal smile how he'd sprayed her with his gas, leaving her for dead. It made him laugh hysterically to realize that she'd been saved by Bruce! He thought back to the night he'd given Batman the benefit of experiencing his toxin, setting him on fire, and watching him fall several stories to the pavement, only to crawl away.

It amuzed him to think of that memory until he recalled having his precious toxin turned upon him. If he really had to admit it, it had been both terrifying and liberating, and possibly the most sensual event he'd felt. To have the Batman grab him roughly by his hair, jerking back his head only to shove the gas in his face, then stare upon him with such a horrific face... Jonathan shivered at the thought, goosebumps crawling up his pale skin. He could be masochistic to himself yes... and by now it was not doubted that Batman had his own sadistic side: Jonathan's bruises were a testament to this.

Maybe these things drew the bat to him... the anger of what the doctor had done, things he was responsible for. The fact that the Joker was now behind bars and unreachable, as well as too dangerous, could also be a factor... If Bruce wanted to let his frusterations out, a small-timer woudln't be challenging enough; and the Joker was no good; but Jonathan? Jonathan who'd tried to evade Batman? Eluded capture? Escaped Arkham? Fit in and deceived Bruce of his identity? Yes, Crane was perfect. He was smaller, weaker, a bit too crazy, invisible to the public, forgotten temporarily by the police. No one would believe him if he spewed his guts, and he couldn't file charges... or could he? This thought made him smile... he could indeed sue, if he wanted to go to jail anyway, a file for abuse and kidnapping by the equal criminal of batman would possibly even win... but he doubted he'd go that far....... he was too interested in this strange situation.

It all depended on how Bruce decided to deal with this situation.

Crane slowly lifted his eyelids to peer around his ever blurry surroundings for the one who held him here. He fully expected to be kicked, smacked, or laughed at, but certainly not to open his eyes to no one. Bruce... he wasn't there! He looked side to side, no one... He looked beside him, seeing a long black shape, like a pipe or something about two feet long. Aside it lay something flat and whiter than his surroundings. He figured it must be a paper, which meant the black thing was a flashlight. He tried quickly to move and get up, only NOW realizing why his arms hurt. They were no longer in the cuffs, but secured in a straight jacket. This knowledge made him feel a bit conserned about his plans to escape, which would be very difficult without the use of his hands.

Jonathan groaned as he wriggled his body inch by inch to the flashlight. He could hardly make out its form, but he moved his chin on it until he felt the switch. With a click, the light shown out the head of it, causing his eyes to squint from the first light in heaven only knew how long.

As his eyes finally adjusted to the light shining across the floor, he wiggled nearer to the paper. On the front cover of the Gotham Tribune, he could just make out the face... his own - or rather, the face of Edward, the librarian. He frowned, trying desperately to make out the blurry letterhead of the title:...

"Prodigy Librarian, Edward J. Pierce Missing After Banquet: Mr. Wayne to Voice his Concerns Today"

He blinked, then began to laugh hysterically, rolling over to his back to breathe easier. He had a fit on the floor, gasping for air while he laughed for a half-hour straight.

He finally rolled over to look at the date on the paper, making out after a long struggle that it was Wednesday... He'd been here for four days already!

It sent him into a new fit of laughter that lasted until they ceased to be humerous and he fell into despairing sobs, alone in the dark.

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	11. His Concerns Water?

Disclaimer: I do not own the Batman series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Thank you for the reviews so far. The story gets better and more involved as it goes, and yes, Bruce has a reason. He's being drawn into Crane in a way he can't explain, and it infuriates him.

Plz Rate and Review!

Thank you Poodle Murphy, Murder Junkie, and cutsmile for your fantastic, supportive reviews! I'll do my best to please both myself and my readers!

Commissioner Gordon stood on a platform discussing recent criminal activities that had increased due to the Joker's run - though the clown was now in a cell at Arkham. Robberies, rapes, muggings, and people going missing were stabilizing with the efforts of the police and the unwanted assistance of Batman. He reiterated again that there was no affiliation between his office and the now criminal Batman. If he was caught and detained, he would most likely be charged with murder alongside being a vigilante and causing numerous damages to the city. When he'd fully discussed their report to the public on the general topics of the state of Gotham crime, the reporters were able to open up questions of their own. The topic of interest? The possible kidnapping of Mr. Edward Pierce, librarian extraordinaire.

"Mr. Gordon, What does your office plan to do to locate Mr. Pierce? We have gathered enough intelligence that he has no family members to insist on matters?"

"Ma'am, we are doing everything in our power to locate the good librarian of West Chester Library. Mr. Wayne has given us what information he can, as well as have the other guests of the Banquet."

"Commissioner, why have you not allowed his home to be viewed by the news?"

"Mr. Pierce, as his coworkers have told us, was a very private man. It is not necessary for the public to poke in on the home of such a person for the sake of curiosity," he looked pointedly at them, and then held a hand out for Bruce to come up.

Bruce smiled at the cameras, keeping his composure of rising corporate businessman as well as flair of the boyish grandeur only Bruce Wayne could flaunt. Everyone adored his smile, hated his audacity, or just found him bemusing. He was the kind of personality you could never ignore.

He had the decency at least to look remorseful as the first question was asked:

"Mr. Wayne, is it true Mr. Pierce was a friend of yours?"

"I am not sure I can quite say it like that. He and I share polar opposite philosophies on life," he smiled, "and our personalities... I guess it's like trying to make cats and dogs play nice. But that aside, I found his company appealing; we might have become friends."

What a load of bull right? No, on some level he believed it, regretted that they were both enemies... while the other was positively SMUG about the whole situation, and the crap rolling off his tongue right now when he had the man locked away.

"We heard from others at the hotel, that there had been a disturbance in Mr. Pierce's room the night he disappeared, that he was crying out; is that true?"

"It is true, but it was investigated by our employees who offered him help, which was denied. Commissioner Gordon thinks perhaps he was in distress but feared his and others' safeties if he accepted help or raised an alarm."

He was now lying out his rear... That disturbance had been when the man was crying out in his sleep.

"But weren't you reported to have gone to visit him as well?"

"Yes, I had been playing a round of poker downstairs when I heard my guest was having troubles. I went up to check upon him, but saw, to my guilt now, that nothing was out of the ordinary." Of course the tapes wouldn't show Bruce on the film like that. It'd show him going in to speak with him, then leaving not long after.

"I was quite put off when he didn't arrive for breakfast, since after he'd gotten a bit taken away by our famous BlueTide Alcoholic drink I had invited him. But I thought little of it since he'd probably just have a hangover. The caterer knocked on his door sometime around noon to find the room abandoned, disheveled, and cold due to a broken window."

"A window, Mr. Wayne?"

"Yes, the poor employee thought he'd jumped or something. Apparently whoever abducted him took him out the window, not the door. Mr. Pierce's glasses were found on the sidewalk below his room that morning, shattered."

"Do you know anything about his personal life, Mr. Bruce?" asked another.

"Personal? Well,... no I don't, we mostly talked business. He doesn't talk about himself, and I had the impression he didn't like me much," he chuckled. "I think that's all the questions for now, thank you."

"What do you think of something like this happening in your hotel?"

"It is very concerning... The criminals of Gotham need to go down, we need to pull in their reigns, like my parents did."

For a moment, the crowd was quiet, because Bruce Wayne NEVER mentioned his parents.... But, they couldn't be deterred long, and as always, they were brimming with hundreds of questions, pushing and shoving, but Bruce was already in his fancy car, heading home to check on the very topic of this interview.

His thoughts were on other matters anyway, like, how to keep Crane, could he be brought around, could he keep him as anything other than a prisoner, could he act on his Want for him? These were among a few of his concerns.

But perhaps the most concerning at the moment was: Did I forget to put out his water?

WOW... Let us hope Bruce Wayne never brings home a dog.....

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Seriously! Someone call PITA! He's a horrible owner!

Lawl, plz remember to rate and review!


	12. Take Care of Your Pet

Disclaimer: I do not own the Batman series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Thanks for reviews, they're what I live on.

Plz don't forget to rate and review!

Alfred frowned upon Bruce's return, looking at him disdainfully as he held out a teatray. Bruce smiled lightly at him, "Really Alfred, please stop looking at me like that."

"Master Wayne, you're standing here drinking Earl Grey from England, when you haven't fed or watered your "GUEST" in four days. What kind of look should I give you?" He said, not liking the strange effects the small man's presence was having on Bruce.

Bruce sighed and sat in a french apolstered chair, legs spread slightly for comfort, leaning his head back a moment before looking at the fireplace. "You're right."

"I don't pretend to understand why he is here and not given to the police Bruce. I fail to see what you're doing at all, but as long as he's here being treated like an animal, at least have the decency to take care of your pet."

Bruce sighed once more, looking at the cup in his hands, "I know, but," he looked at Alfred, "try not to think poorly of me... I, I don't quite know what I'm doing, but I can't turn him in yet..."

"Bruce, I'll always be behind you, but, remember he's still a human, criminal or not."

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Sometime later after Bruce had changed into black slacks and a plain tight black tee, he made his way down to the cave with a glass of water. He listened intently as he heard the dry sobs of his little bird, making him smile lightly. They were delicate, gaspy little noises that made his stomach flutter. Was it strange to enjoy that sound, when he knew it came from Jonathan?...

The sobs abruptly stopped when Bruce cracked the door open slowly. Jonathan lay shivering in the corner. It wasn't from fear, but from hunger and dehydration. It was so ironic that Scarecrow was laughing his ass off in their head; a few days ago, at his last meal, he'd scoffed at it's expense and how fancy it was. Now, he'd gladly scarf anything down to get rid of the painful burn of emptiness in his stomach.

The tiny male squeaked when the blurry figure loomed over him, then gave a dry, throat burning shriek when he felt hands on him again. He couldn't handle any more physical pain right now... He was half sure he was dying, and it pissed the pair off that he couldn't fight at all.

He struggled in the firm arms of his enemy until something cool and wet hit his lips. He opened his mouth immediately, gulping at the gracious water, choking slightly. He wanted to hold the glass, but alas, he was still trapped in the straightjacket. Bruce's hand held him steady, and set the glass down when there was no more water. Jonathan was still trying to drink, lips moving in silent protest to the empty glass.

Bruce smiled, "i'll bring you more... but first..." he looked at his body, and sighed, "i think a bath and change of clothes is in order..." Jonathan didn't quite understand what he was talking about, but had no say in the matter as he was lifted so easily from the cold floor. His head swayed side to side a bit in delerium as they left the dark room, a bit of light coming to his eyes until they were in the elevator, which was even brighter. It only got worse when they stepped off into a corridor on the third floor, Bruce walking briskly. Dr. Crane skrewed his eyes shut tightly as the light was more blinding than the dark.

It wasn't long before he felt the cool smoothness of a tub against his bare feet. He was laid down. "You'll feel better after you're cleaned up..." Bruce said more to himself than to Crane.

"..." he parted his lips to make a rude comment, but couldn't find his voice. He grimaced, knowing that if only he could SEE, things would indeed be better... His briefcase should have two spare pairs for Heaven's sake, hadn't Bruce checked?! Or did he prefer his pet to be blind and dumbed by it?

He gasped as he was rolled onto his stomach, but relaxed when he felt hands tugging at his straps, until his arms were freed. But rather than being able to fight now, his arms hung limp beside him, burning as they began to wake up with renewed circulation. After this, he was fully removed from the jacket and shirt beneath, leaving his chest bare and chilled.

Jonathan lay, a bit dazed, while Bruce on the other hand was staring at the pale white flesh. He drank in everything about his chest to commit it to memory. From slim shouders, down a flat chest to his soft stomach,.. it was so delicious...

Great... now he was HOOKED for good...

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	13. The Bird Bath

Disclaimer: I do not own the Batman series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Getting more mature as we go along, shmex is but a chapter away.

Plz Rate and Review!  
Out of the cell and into the bath!

It was confusing, to lay there, wondering if he was ever going to be washed or if he was just going to lay there shirtless! Bruce seemed to have stalled or something, because since the shirt had come off, he'd simply been laying on the chilled white surface. He frowned, turning to look up at the figure that was Bruce and quip, "must look... too hideous for words..." in a croaking, raspy voice.

This spurred Bruce out of his reverie, hands coming back to the man's body, running down his chest once to the pants. Jonathan's body quivered intensely; 'what the hell?' he was asking himself. One moment he received beatings, and now caresses that were just as unwelcome! He squirmed to display his displeasure, but got a sharp shove on his shoulder that told him to be still.

Bruce's hands pulled off the already unbuckled belt, slipping it slowly through the loops. When it was off, it the metal hit the tile floor with a small ringing "clink." Next, the hands were back, unbuttoning the pants, slowly zipping them down for the second time, but now proceeded to slowly slip the tight grey pants off.

Poor Jonathan realized with morbid embarrassment that his four days had not stopped his body from having to at least.... "Go to the bathroom." Of course jails had toilets in the cells, and even in Arkham, those with straightjackets were given bathroom time or changed. Jonathan was quite neglected these four days in more ways than one. His face brightened red, but Bruce just removed them and tossed them into the chute along with his underwear. Alfred was going to wash the clothes for him anyways, and send them back up the shaft once done. Hurray for caring butlers and elevated laundry shoots!

Crane was left bare, cold, and bruised in the tub under the piercing gaze of his captor. Bruce contained himself however, though he didn't miss the chance to give his body a look over; he reached up and brought down the shower head, which was extendable, prime for washing children, dogs, or the occasional mentally insane criminal...

The sound of the water beginning to run, cold liquid seeping near his toes jarred Crane into a better sense of awareness that sent a shiver up his body. When it began to turn warm, Bruce turned the shower head on and brought it up to clean off Jonathan's hair first. However, when the warm water hit his skin initially, Jonathan began to jerk to get away, crying out rapidly for Bruce to "get the fuck away!"

It only made Bruce pause to grab the man's jaw, holding his face still to watch his little lips quiver, eyes filled with wildness. "Calm your ass down, it's just a bath," he growled in a commanding tone that belonged to Batman. It froze Jonathan's labored movements, and soon a torrent of light warm water ran down his hair and over his face and shoulders. It gave him the shivers, realizing how utterly cold he'd been until now. Bruce smiled when his pet had calmed; he reached up, pulling down some shampoo, working it into his hands. He then reached down and began to run his fingers through Jonathan's long darkening hair.

Here was the absolute highlight of the evening so far: Jonathan's eyes unexpectedly rolled back slightly, lips parting, and head tilting into those hands as if in utter ecstasy. Bruce paused, and the look slipped away into a blank expression. He moved his fingers through his hair once more, and then grinned like a shark to see the orgasmic look return. He started to move his fingers more sensually and firmly, finding the widening of those lips, and lowering of those eyelids alluring. He even felt himself twitch in the nether regions of his pants.

He gave a slight groan when he heard those small quivering lips give out a tiny moan of enjoyment. He had to reel himself back in to accomplish the task at hand. Finally, he worked in the shampoo enough to begin to rinse it out. Another round of slight looks of sensual pleasure passed the male's face throughout the hair-wash until his hair was clean, smelling of mint.

Next, Bruce laved up a sponge with body wash, and then began to work away at the little one's body. He worked over dirt; blood, sores, cuts, bruises, and beautiful pale flesh that made him want it all the more. Hands glided from an earlobe, down a long skinny neck, over a tight chest, protruding hip bones, a thigh, calf, his feet.... everything was so delectable. Jonathan's body twitched with every caress, not used to human touch in the slightest; all this was beyond overwhelming.

Once his entire body was glittering clean from the bird bath, Bruce leaned back to survey his work. Jonathan lay panting, but warm and beautiful, that Bruce couldn't help himself as he swooped in to attack those delicious lips, much to the shock of the doctor. His lips opened to tell Batman to go to hell when a tongue was shoved inside his delicious cavern...

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	14. CrAcK!

Disclaimer: I do not own the Batman series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

I got a fantastic review from Murder Junkie. In response hun, I shall now be writing the chapters on word to make them longer before posting here; i think my problem has been of typing them directly onto the editer. Also, concerning Stockholm Syndrome; ^__________^ Yes, I SHALL be including these elements very soon, thank you.

Also I plan on going back and combining chapters so that I don't have 500 chapters for a 15 chapter size ^_^, but that'll come when I'm less lazy and everyone realizes that's what I'm doing, and not making chapters vanish.

Poodle Murphy: lawl ur reviews make me giggle

ruleroftravels: omg ur silly

Plenty of abuse and uh-oh - SMEXiness in this chapter!  
Plz rate and review!

PS! For soon to be obvious reasons,… this chapter will be called CRACK!

Bruce couldn't believe he'd gone for it, and despite the fact that the mouth hadn't met toothpaste in four days, he still tasted quite pleasing, if not a little coppery.

His tongue moved against teeth and an unresponsive tongue. He gave a slight growl, moving against the tongue to instigate some form of response; the only one he got at first was an attempt on Jonathan's part to clamp his jaw shut as the Scarecrow commanded.

Fingers hooked automatically on Jonathan's lower jaw then upper jaw to keep his mouth pried open while Bruce pulled back with a face that displayed his displeasure of the action.

Too bad Crane couldn't see it, or he might have got the hint… for when Bruce attempted another kiss, and received the same response, Crane was made painfully aware of who was in charge yet again with a punch that splattered fresh blood into the water.

Bruce cursed, angry that he'd busted those lips again and made a mental note to pick somewhere ELSE to take out his anger on… not those lips…

Jonathan whimpered once, then stopped responding altogether as Scarecrow and he were rolling over and over inside his head, flailing in confusion, blindness, fury, fear, and arousal (which was new to them both).

Bruce was able to lick the blood from the broken lips, then resume his kissing without protest, but without answer as well. He finally pulled away, eying Jonathan's body momentarily.

A small washcloth was brought up to dab at the lips softly to clean them of blood before offering more water from the showerhead, which was lapped at greedily.

He tore his eyes away from the sight long enough to retrieve a fresh toothbrush from a cabinet, then the toothpaste from the counter, along with a plastic cup. He wrenched at his pet's jaw to part his lips, then begin the task of brushing the all too perfect teeth, except for one, he observed, which was chipped. He would ask sometime when the Doctor was all there upstairs, since it didn't look like anyone was home right now; the blank, dazed look was proof of that.

Once Bruce was pleased with the job, he began to drain the tub of water, and brought out a towel that was a light blue and smelling of fresh linen.

He smiled as he descended back upon Jonathan's hair with it to dry the wet strands. He was disappointed when the look didn't return - that look of ecstasy. He rubbed Jonathan's body down until he was dry then sighed, wrapping a bathrobe around him, then cuffing his hands with leather bonds rather than metal cuffs that cut the skin. He then picked up his parcel, taking him to the bed outside the other bathroom door, where he lay down his fluffed bird.

Bruce sat himself down beside the limp Doctor's form, eyeing the expressionless face for an incalculable amount of time… His hands didn't rest for long before they found that hair again, brushing through it gently, then more firmly as the flat face suddenly lit up again. To see that enraptured look grace him with its presence sent Bruce into a frenzy for it. He wouldn't allow the man a moment's rest from his large hands brushing through. Neither did he tire of it… No it was like pleasing a cat, ceaselessly and automatically caressing for the enjoyment of both.

Although Scarecrow was livid at all this touchy-feely shit, Crane couldn't resist reacting to it, for it was so good he wanted to moan, but that was viciously choked off by his other side. He was being backed into a corner by both Bruce and Scarecrow, both angry at him, beating him up in different ways. He just screwed his eyes shut and allowed himself to accept the petting of his hair which pleased him so.

That was until it stopped and Bruce's form swung over him, looming above and blocking the light. It caused a flicker of reaction in Crane's eyes, a slight gasp, and then nothing.

Bruce just smiled, moving his hands lower to unclasp the bathrobe, ghosting his fingers over the soft fabric before it lay open, exposing a white chest. Greedy fingers stroked cool skin from collar to hip slowly; they traced bruises and cuts that caused Jonathan's body to twitch or his face to wince, but soon it became too much for Bruce to resist…

All this spoiling and pampering of his new pet had gotten to him in more ways than one, and suddenly he was discarding his own clothes.

***************

Scarecrow seemed to sense they were in trouble, for though they couldn't see very well, it was noticeable that the black figure with a peach head and black hair had suddenly become a mostly peachy figure indicating… nudity.

His eyes widened a bit, and Bruce laughed at his shocked face, "How well CAN you see?" he smiled.

Jonathan didn't react with words, but upon being touched on the hip, he tried to buck him off, barely managing to even make the large man sway. Instead, Bruce just pressed more firmly on his hip, threatening the safety of his pelvic bone.

Bruce was merely topless, but it was enough to lean down to press his bare chest against cool, clean flesh and a hard, yet breakable chest. He found that the shaking of the one beneath him was pleasing beyond compare… yet Jonathan was far from it.

He would have bashed Bruce's head in with the corner of the lampshade long ago if he could move with any amount of strength, and that pissed Scarecrow off, who now started to growl audibly at the billionaire.

The growl positively burnt his throat, but it only increased in intensity as Bruce refused to get off. His hands, still bound and resting over his head lifted threateningly, snapping down to hit Bruce over the head, but they were dead weight, and Bruce just laughed, then twisted one of Jonathan's fingers dangerously in warning to not piss him off. The warning was quickly heeded, but it only served to add to the flames of Scarecrow's fury.

Scarecrow swelled forcing every last bit of strength to his body, before slamming a knee upward into the gut of his oppressor.

"AH! You twit!" he cursed, as Jonathan's body rolled over quickly, then fell to the floor. He could barely move, but managed to wiggle underneath the massive bed where he was out of reach. Bruce dipped down to see where he'd gone, only to find him at the center, glaring back with those lightening blue eyes and a grin on his face that told him the Scarecrow was in charge.

For a moment, when Bruce disappeared from view, he thought he'd won. He sighed, contented to lay in the dark until the mattress above him suddenly flew off, revealing a very smug bat and a shocked bird.

"Mr. Wayne! I daresay you're far too rambunctious for the furniture!" he gasped out with Scarecrow's sarcasm. He was gifted with a sharp jab in the neck, causing him to fall limp before Bruce THREW him onto the mattress that now lay on the floor. He lay sprawled over it and the blankets, eyes trying to watch the blur as it stalked over to him.

He heard the distinct clinking of a belt being hurriedly undone and gulped for air and from nerves. The sound of it falling to the floor with a heavy thud was sickening. A second passed before Bruce found a better usage for the belt, folding it in half, rolling Crane over onto his stomach, then raising his hand.

*CRrrrAAAACK!

Jonathan was screaming instantly, shocked, bewildered, embarrassed, mortified, terrified, pained… He hadn't been prepared for something that burned… no, seared his skin that way, stinging and stabbing pain from Bruce's extraordinary strength and the firmness of the hard, leather belt. His rear reddened brightly against the white skin around it, welting from the force of the hit.

Bruce was still frowning at Jonathan's act of disobedience, raising the belt again.

CRACK!!!

Another sharp cry of pain.

CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK!! The blows just kept coming until Jonathan was wailing on the floor, begging for him to stop. "OH please! Please stop it! S-s-s-stop! Ohhhh Dammit!"

Bruce slapped it over him again CRACK for cursing…

"AHh! You fuck! Stop!" he sobbed, voice breaking into a piteous squeak.

CRACK! CRACK!

"Then learn to stop defying me."

"DEFY?!?!?! You're crazy! Crazy, loony bat!" Scarcrow managed to come up again, "You're insane for sure Mr. Wayne! There's a cell at Arkham just for you, right next to Joker!"

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

"You too then, you go right beside mine."

"AHAHAHAHA! Nope! No not me, I get to be your doctor!" Scarecrow giggled.

CRACK!

"N-nn!! DIE!!"

CRrrrrrrrrAAAAACK!!

"YOU FUCKER STOP IT OR I'LL SPRAY YOUR BUTLER IN THE FACE WITH MY GAS!!" screamed the Scarecrow, beyond amused at the continued abuse of his lovely Jonathan's body.

"Who are you to command that? You won't get away…." he did hesitate with the belt though.

"Ohh…" he smiled, relaxing, "but when I'm freeeeeeee…." he sang, "when I get away from you, and I WILL… We'll make sure he suffers,… We'll cut away his hands, and he'll die knowing it's your fault. Then, how will Batman suffer then?" He giggled, obviously carried away when he spoke as if he were more than one person.

Bruce paused before lowering the belt, then whispering in Crane's ear, "hmm.. No belt for now then, but that still leaves… other options."

Bruce undid his zipper and button as he spoke, then let out his straining semi-erection. He then smiled, grabbing the bird's wrists, using the belt to loop through the leather cuffs, then strap them to the foot of the iron bed.

The doctor was released of Scarecrow's lead for the time being, thinking himself to be tied up to not escape,… until he felt a Thick item of hot flesh brush up against his inner thigh. It caught him off guard, mouth hanging open in utter shock at what he must be feeling.

Bruce smiled, tempted to thrust his needy meat into that delicate yet sharp mouth, but feared its well being, knowing the small one would bite to deal as much damage as possible.

Instead, he picked where Crane couldn't bite back…

He rubbed himself a bit harder against his pet's thigh, then against his skinnier, and slightly smaller endowment, causing Crane's to twitch in eager response. Bruce groaned, for this was a shit ton more foreplay than he ever had with any of the women he had been with.

And he certainly wasn't planning on slipping birth control into his partner's mouth, nor was he going to use a condom like he had to with women to prevent any further mooching after sex. No, he was going to pound into little Crane, balls deep, brutally raw in all manners of speaking.

Bruce grabbed the smaller male's bony hips, and made an experimental jab at his tight ring with his thickness. It elicited a sharp gasp from those puffy lips. No preparation or lubrication would ease Crane's first time with Bruce; and yes, Bruce meant for this to be the first of many times.

He knew not what drove him over the edge, but he HAD to Have Crane as his own, fully. He wanted to shove inside of him, make him moan, make him scream, make him cum lewdly and watch that cocky face distort in rapture.

Bruce made another jab, reaching down to spread soft cheeks apart, then shoved hard, head poking past the rim before his entire member thrust in to the hilt.

A shriek that sounded like death knocking split from Jonathan's throat, arching his body despite his state. He dug at the metal foot of the bed as his toes curled to help deal with the shear pain of Bruce's entry. It was far too big for one so inexperienced as Crane, and bleeding had already begun.

Bruce began to move not long after seating himself into the most luxuriously tight ass he'd ever been in… He listened to Jonathan's desperate cries, beginning to pull out slowly.

"OH Get out pleeeeeeeeeeease!" Crane moaned as Bruce was almost entirely out, then shrieked as Bruce plunged back in, repeating the action again, again, again…. Ever again until the Doctor's body was shaking violently, his own member dripping, tense with need for release of the painful stimulation. "PLEASE!!!" he shrieked, knowing he'd never said that word so many times since he was a child.

"Dr. Crane… it seems you can't handle your alcohol OR your sex…" Bruce smiled, burying himself into him yet again.

He only received a whimper and a lip bitten to hold in the pleas that weren't working. A ragged moan released however, when Bruce struck something inside him that sent bolts of lightening up his spine, and he found his release, spurting hot white essence over himself.

The thrusts inside him came more haphazard now, as already burning tight walls squeezed Bruce more desperately. He gave a final push, before filling Jonathan past the brim, overflowing onto the blankets. The used male slumped limply, panting with an open mouth, a string of drool descending from the side of his lips.

Bruce crawled up to his ear, whispering, "and now, the bird belongs to the bat…"

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:D


	15. Childhood Dreams

Disclaimer: I do not own the Batman series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

HopeLess1985: Thank you, and here's some of the nightmare/memories and I'll keep updating  
Lunavin: ty for your review!  
Murder Junkie: lol u have no clue how much it pleases me that you keep reviewing!

PS seriously, reviews spark my inner muse to write so plz review!

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The night came swiftly it seemed, for the light from the window crossed the crane's path, as if for some great haste. The darkness brought with it the nightmares that plagued his mind, though this night, the darkness watched him, an audience to his misery….

"Mama?" came a quiet voice, tiny hands holding up a coloring book, the pony colored in perfectly, even shaded, highlighted, textured, and the hands belonged to a four-year-old boy. He gave an unsure smile to her, "mama?" he asked a bit louder. She looked down at him after three more calls, seeing the small child with curly black hair.

She scoffed, "that's your sister's coloring book Jonathan." She looked back up at her guest, Coffee-Lady as Jonathan called her. "Sorry, my son doesn't remember that when adults are speaking, he should be quiet."

"Oh I don't mind, but does he not know ponies and princesses are for little girls?" Coffee-Lady was looking over the rim of her cup at him with distaste. "Tell me he's not one of THEM…." she said acidly.

The toddler looked confusedly up at the two as his mother gasped, "Certainly not! He just doesn't know better…" she whispered like it was a secret, "his father's always so busy, maybe he spends too much time with me…"

"Yes, let's hope so…" Coffee-Lady said in a warning tone.

The little boy started to giggle, imagining using the intricate silver coffee spoon to stab straight through her hand… It was highly amusing.

"Jonathan!" came a shriek from the doorway.

Jonathan spun around quickly, face red, looking terrified as his sister stood aghast.

She ran in after shutting the door, "Jonathan… you'll get into sooo much trouble…" she whispered, shaking her head.

He looked at her then at the floor. "Why can't you just wear the pants I gave you?" she urged.

"I was just curious…" he whispered back.

"Curious?! Jonathan you're nine years old! You're a boy! You can't wear my dresses! Do you know what happens to little boys like you?" she was scared for her little brother… He was becoming one of those people her mother and father hated, one of THEM… She had to protect him.

"Of course I know!" he squeaked, "Everybody knows… what happens…" He was reminded of it every day. He wasn't even in the double digits yet and he knew what happened to THEM.

"Jonathan…" she hugged him, though he stood tense in her arms, then sighed, "It'll be okay…… dearest brother."

To these soft sentiments, Jonathan temporarily stilled in his sleep, relaxing, but then he lay screaming, wreathing on the floor as if in excruciating pain.

The darkness rushed from its corner, surrounding him within and without the dream. His screams weren't like the cries he gave when hurt, or when he was in normal fear of the bat or for his life. These were screams beyond even those that Bruce had once had from his parents' deaths or from bats. The darkness tried to shake him awake, and the shrieks grew louder still, ripping from his throat.

"Wake up!" The darkness called, which was confusing… normally the darkness would want him to stay in his memories…

"WAKE UP Jonathan!"

Why was it calling his name? And with such a familiar voice…

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!" He screamed, only now beginning to actually realize he was screaming… these noises weren't his memories…

*SLAP!

"WAKE UP DAMMIT!" Came Bruce's now angry sounding voice.

"AAAAAAAAHhh…. Ahhhhhhhh! Aaahh-b-bruce-aaaha…" The screams were calming as Jonathan slowly started to come back to focus. His eyes shot open, flailing to get away from the person whose arms he found himself in, gasping, crying out in confused fear.

"CRANE!" he commanded, hands shaking him to bid him to be still.

Jonathan's eyes leveled on Bruce; tears he hadn't known he'd been crying were pouring from his eyes for Bruce to see, while Jonathan was doubly blinded by his tears. His panting was dying down, however, as his mind came into further consciousness.

"….Bruce…" he finally managed with full recognition.

"I… Are… are you alright? You…." he was so unsure how to discuss what had just happened, and he certainly felt he must be the one to blame.

He wouldn't answer, couldn't or wouldn't, it didn't matter. It took a good hour for Bruce to get a word out of him, which happened to be a demand.

"…. I want my glasses…" he whispered, looking away from the blur defiantly.

"I've seen Doctor Crane without glasses before…" Bruce frowned.

"Contacts genius… Now, I Want my glasses…." he whispered.

"They're broken, I'm afraid a multi-story drop was a bit too much for them," he smirked slightly.

"Fool," he grunted, "I carry several spare in my briefcase…" he whispered.

The blur disappeared in a flash, and was gone for what seemed hours to Crane, but it was mere minutes. When he sensed movement again, he felt a hand move his head, and suddenly all the world lit up in clarity. It made his head throb, but he quickly made use of his new amazing sight by looking for his oppressor's face.

It didn't take long to find, for predictably, Bruce was hidden in the shadows of the corner of the room. He lay quiet for quite some time, just letting his eyes search Bruce's expression, as Bruce did the same to him.

He looked up slowly after they stared at each other for so long, staring at his wrists tied to the bed with the belt. "All this… is… quite unnecessary…"

Bruce came from the shadows to his side, "why were you screaming?"

Crane's eyes leveled upon Bruce again, bright blue eyes holding no defiance,… just a blank look…

Bruce raised his hand, to which Crane flinched away, shutting his eyes, but the hand merely stroked his cheek in the gentlest of ways. "Did I cause it?"

Crane just let loose laughing like a maniac. It was frightening, truly, the way he just burst into laughter. Bruce waited until Jonathan calmed before asking again.

"Bruce Wayne, I have to tell you…. The world doesn't revolve around you… And there are much more frightening things than a man who dresses as a bat to beat the fuck out of librarians…" he said with a thick layer of sarcasm.

Bruce raised an unamused brow, "fine, then what caused it?"

"It's none of your business,… and no amount of beating will make me tell you," he said in a way that caused Bruce to growl.

Bruce grabbed his wrists to untie them, and lift Crane's still naked body off the mattress. Crane shook, "D-don't touch me!"

"A bit late for that," he said, but dropped his body on the floor when Crane demanded to be let down. Bruce instead dragged him by the hair, which made Crane have to quickly crawl across the floor to follow, and not lose his hair.

"Ah! Stop!" He scrambled along on the waxed floor of the hall. He did his best to keep moving until his strength gave out and he collapsed. Bruce looked down at him then sighed, picking him up again, taking him down to the black cell, leaving him on the floor, "I have work, be back in a couple hours."

"Hours..?" he inquired quietly, "mn…" he groaned as his stomach rolled over, muttering something.

"What?" he asked, crouching down to listen, then heard his stomach, "hm…. I'll have Alfred drop off something to eat."

Crane stared at him hard, wondering how insane Bruce had to be to have not fed him all this time… had he FORGOTTEN or starved him on purpose? Which was more insane?

His head hurt badly from the constant pulls on his hair, the roots probably damaged, as he could feel little sticky spots which told him he was bleeding slightly. He noticed his hair was darkening from its softer brown…

"How long… have I been here…?" he asked the floor as Bruce smiled.

"Long enough for the police to be questioning your survival."

Just as Crane was able to comprehend the meaning of this, and muster up enough energy to launch himself towards Bruce, the cold door slammed shut.

Crane screamed out in enragement, pounding his fists hard as he could on the door. The pounds faded slowly into open handed slaps against it, then dulled into slow drags of his fingernails down it, causing little scratch marks on the door. However more damage was done to his hands and now bloody, broken fingernails.

It wasn't long before Alfred came down with a tray of cheddar and broccoli soup, and some earl grey tea. He slid it through a food slot in the door, giving the naked prisoner respectful privacy, as well as keeping himself at a safe distance. Alfred sighed when he heard small sobs, coupled with the clinking of a spoon, which at least told him that Jonathan was eating.

"Crane," came a snarky voice, jarring the boy from his thoughts, "Crane, what is the answer?"

Jonathan lifted his head from his book, his mind coming back from who knows where, "I'm sorry?"

"I asked you: What is the answer Crane?"

"To what?" he asked his batty teacher. Several students pointed at him and laughed. Jonathan, there in his sister's hand-me-down, short overalls and a tight purple tee shirt, didn't smile or laugh.

He stared at the teacher with those misty blues, his face sallow, lacking nourishment and the roundness of a young, happy child's face. His hair slipped in front of his eyes as his teacher's eyes narrowed. Jonathan dipped his head down, but the teacher continued to stare.

"What are you looking at you sorry old bat?!" he challenged with a squeak of pent up anger. His teacher always got on his back when his mind drifted off… It wasn't his fault he did that… It wasn't his fault he drifted off to another world. Eight-year-olds weren't supposed to be this way… he knew that, but it couldn't be his fault…

Mr. Boris grabbed his wooden ruler, shaking it at Crane's face, "You listen here you little twit! You do not call ME that! You will respect me, answer when called on, and behave in MY classroom! You will stop daydreaming and get your head out of the clouds. This is serious business you little fag," he hissed the last word out in a whisper for only Jonathan to hear.

Jonathan could almost hear the man's thoughts: 'You're one of THEM; I don't even know why I tolerate your presence here! You'll be punished!'

He glared back with emotion-filled eyes as the teacher started to smack his knuckles with the ruler. He winced as the class laughed, the boy behind him kicking the back of his chair, "Stupid Jonny should just stay home! You're so dumb, can't even answer the question."

Crane wheeled around to tell him to shut up and leave him alone when a particularly hard slap made him sob out. Everyone went quiet, then doubled their laughter, until the flush on Jonathan's face caused the small boy to seize up as if frozen as he imagined shooting up, grabbing the ruler from his teacher's hands, lifting it high, and stabbing it straight through Mr. Boris' hand.

He drifted away with a semi-smug look on his face as he imagined his teacher's screams, while his knuckled were turned raw.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"

It took Crane a while to realize he was screaming again, but when he did, he started into a fit, throwing the teacup and the tray, and the bowl at the wall, shattering the porcelain pieces into hundreds of fragments.

Alfred remained nearby, asked to make sure their guest didn't accidentally harm himself in Bruce's absence. It would be hard to stop the angry young man, however, when he was no longer in a straight jacket, just leather cuffs.

Jonathan only calmed when he'd satisfactorily destroyed the expensive set. He breathed in slowly then wrapped his thin blanket around himself, shivering as he realized he was freezing, butt-naked in that cell. His teeth started to chatter so badly it hurt.

He remembered the butler, and scrambled over to the food slot, lifting up the slat to peer outside. "Alfred…." he whispered, his fingers stroking the side of the slot idly. "Alfred?" he whispered again like a child, like Bruce had long ago when he was a child, scared by a nightmare.

The Butler couldn't help but approach, "Yes, er?" He wasn't sure what to call him… Mr., young master, sir,… these things couldn't be said. And flat out Jonathan, John, or Crane seemed cruel in their present circumstances.

"Oh, you can call me Doctor," he said with a smile, his eyes so wide, always looking on the verge of tears.

"Alright, what is it you have called for Doctor?" he asked, careful of the sly criminal.

"A bl-blanket if you please…" he requested, unable to stop the cold shudder that ran up his spine.

Alfred was unsure if Bruce would get quite angry if he granted the request… "Please?" came the small voice again, "Pleeease… I'm f-freezing…" he whispered, "He left me here… He left me so long before… I c-can't stay in here with nothing over m-my body. There'll be nothing for Him to come home to… I'll die of hypothermia."

Alfred nodded at that, and set off for upstairs to get him something to keep him warm.

Jonathan, however, was quite surprised the butler would grant his request, and wondered if he might not kill the man when he escaped, as he had promised Bruce.

He mulled over the advantages and disadvantages until Alfred came back, pushing a thick throw blanket through the slot, then fuzzy slippers, and a pair of gloves. After Jonathan had scrambled over to pull the slippers and gloves on, then rolled the blanket around him tightly, he decided never to harm a hair on the old man's head if he could help it.

"Doctor Crane?" Alfred asked outside. His head turned up and he rolled over to the slot in the blanket, lifting the slot and peering out inquisitively. The butler shook his head, "never mind, I suggest you get some peaceful sleep while you can, before the young Master gets home."

"………indeed," was all Crane answered, before he shuffled to the corner and huddled up in his warmer blanket, wiggling his happy toes in their fluffy slippers. Yes, he'd not harm the man, even if it meant being unable to escape.

*************

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	16. Shut your mouth 16&17 AFF

Disclaimer: I do not own the Batman series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

TADA!!!!!!!!!! NEW chapter! hehe! Thank you all for being patient!

Jonathan Crane's eyes opened slowly his glasses skewed on his face, causing his vision to be half blurred, half right. He frowned and then adjusted his glasses. He then saw another newspaper article lying on the ground.

Upon closer inspection, it appeared that the authorities had declared that Edward Pierce - famous librarian - was most likely dead. In a city like Gotham, there was little hope for those who went missing for more than three days anyway, and Pierce had been missing over a week now. He stared at the paper then grit his teeth, his shot at normal life all but destroyed by that cruel bat.

Crane proceeded to rip the paper into tiny little pieces, imagining that they were the ligaments and tendons… Sinews of flesh of that creature of the night. He was perhaps deranged temporarily, envisioning every detail of the encounter he wished for.

He looked around, and realized, with his glasses, he could perhaps fashion a way out of his situation. Looking at what he had, there was a straight jacket, paper, smashed teacup, bowl, blanket… spoon! He smiled and picked it up then moved to the door. He frowned to realize the door was not a key lock but electronic…

But with his superior intellect, it took him, perhaps thirty minutes longer than expected to escape the room. Outside the tiny cold cell, he scuffled along in his socks, blanket, gloves and hat, looking more like a sad Eskimo than a prisoner.

He looked at the objects and electronics whirring, clicking, jittering. He stared in wonder, now seeing the advanced technology that ran the bat's lair… no wonder criminals couldn't hiccup without running into the bat. He turned and then smiled. Perhaps now would be a good opportunity to destroy the systems? He smirked, lifting a stool, prepared to smash it. He then sighed and dropped it, for beating a machine was worthless… since it could be replaced and it would sap him of his strength.

He turned instead to search for an exit, which presented itself in manner of either an elevator shaft not far away, a set of stairs, or the waterfall he heard somewhere in the darkness past the … 'batmobile.' He chose the least cold, and least straining option: the elevator. He made it to the shaft and pulled the lever, and it began to shudder, but then didn't start, needing a password. He cursed and moved out, going instead for the stairs. Perhaps he could escape upstairs, find some clothes, food, and a way to escape.

Slowly creeping up the stairs, he found it led into the back of a large grandfather clock. He chuckled, for only Bruce would have the audacity to hide the entrance in such plain sight. He swung it open then looked around. This room looked like a study perhaps, where a large grand piano sat, along with a mahogany desk and trinkets galore. Shelves lined the room with books set straight, coded, alphabetized… oh it was so nice to see some books, although he could not really sit down to enjoy one. He also had something that had to be done: escape and revenge. He did snicker; wondering if any had had its pages turned by the master of the house.

He turned for the door, and smiled, finding a robe hanging on a coat hanger just to the left of the door. Taking that instead of the blanket wrapped around him, he moved towards the door to open it, but the door handle started to turn. He gasped and moved quickly back, diving behind the desk. Bruce walked into the room, accompanied by Alfred.

*****

"Master Wayne, I must advise you that your guest has not been seen to for some time now. Perhaps you should check on him."

"I will, I just need a moment, it was a rough day…" he sighed, resting his head in his hands.

"What is it Master Wayne?" Alfred asked, with a concerned look as Bruce sat down in his chair, scooting in to the desk where a certain someone was now hiding, pressed as far back as possible to avoid being discovered.

"The Joker, he is worrying me… I fear he will not remain in custody very long, and with his insanity, he will not be given a death sentence. So who's to say I can relax for even a second… He is the Most dangerous criminal I have seen so far."

'Oh really?' Thought Crane, so his little thing in the slums of Gotham where every soul was terrorized and turned against everyone else was nothing was it? He smirked, thinking he had a lot to do to reestablish himself as the best if he was so easily replaced by the joker. He blinked and leaned back again when Bruce's legs moved. He ducked when the man crossed his legs.

"I still can't figure it… I cannot kill him, the law cannot kill him…" he frowned. Crane smiled, he'd enjoy killing him indeed. He enjoyed taking a moment to imagine it, which was his mistake, as it distracted him from ducking Bruce's next movement. When Bruce's foot connected with his face, Crane's eyes widened and Bruce jerked, shoving the desk back, sending it flying. Crane's eyes were huge with shock, but managed to run to the clock, trying to open it, but didn't know that the piano was the key to open it. Bruce was on him in an instant, throwing him to the ground.

Crane tried to flip back away from him, though his body protested greatly. It mattered little however when Bruce's boot connected to Crane's stomach, "Ack.." he gasped, spluttering, throwing a hand out to make him stop. Bruce stepped on his hand, "what are you doing?"

"Well h-heavens I'm not trying to e- *hack* escape a psychotic captor or anything…" he giggled, face pulled back in a wild, panicked expression. Bruce growled at him dangerously, causing the doctor to flinch back and try to scramble away. Alfred was in the corner, avoiding the fight, but as Jonathan crawled over to him Bruce's eyes widened, afraid his mentor might be hurt. He hesitated, not wanting to put him in danger. But instead of harming or threatening Alfred, Jonathan hid behind him, crouched behind his legs.

Bruce looked at him and frowned, then looked up at Alfred, raising a brow, "what does he go to you for?" he frowned.

"Food? Warmth?" he shrugged skeptically. Crane looked up at him hopefully, for right now, even a moldy piece of bread would be nice.

Bruce frowned and picked up Crane by his ankle. Crane gasped, scrambling to get away from his grasp, "n-nuh-noo!!!!" he cried, "Let me go!"

Bruce, who was not in a very good mood already, was now fucking pissed that he had gotten out.

"No no!" he gasped as he was pulled down the stairs, quite painfully, bang, bang, banging down each individual stone step.

Bruce growled throwing him in the cell and pulling off his robe. Crane looked up at him with wide blue eyes. Bruce found himself drawn into them pausing with his raised fist. Jonathan's eyes widened again when Bruce stared at him for so long, his fist slowly lowering itself as he leaned over him.

"What are you doing….?" Crane whispered.

Bruce blinked then shoved him hard in the stomach and slamming the door shut, locking it again. He sat down at his monitor and pulled up the security footage to find out when and how he got out. He watched with interest how the criminal had almost destroyed his computer and then chose freedom instead. He frowned, turning around, staring at the door, wondering why he had hesitated to beat him….

He walked over to the cell and found a pair of eyes staring back at him, "what's wrong Batman…?" came that pompous voice.

Bruce watched him as the male stood up and made his way over to the door, "Might it be… that The Bruce Wayne … is discovering he … swings another way?" he smiled, with a glint in his eyes. "The Batman is..."

"Shut up Crane or I'll shut it for you," warned Bruce.

"With what I wonder?" came his witty retort.

"…" Bruce opened the door, then shut it, grabbing him by the neck and shoving him down onto his knees, "What indeed."

Crane looked up at him in wonder then looked at his hips, then back up, "Oh really.." he said with a raised brow. "You can forget it you flying freak," he smirked, backing away. Bruce grabbed his face, shaking it, "YOU will do what I tell you!" he growled in that low batman voice, the one that scared the pee out of poor crane.

Bruce unzipped himself and came closer, sporting an erection. "Only you do this to me… and you'll pay for it. Now ... be a good doctor and fix this problem."

Crane stared at his endowment, really seeing it for the first time. His face actually flushed when Bruce looked down at him expectantly in that mask of his. It took a moment of staring between them before Bruce thrust himself in Jonathan's face, and Crane accepted it into his mouth, eyes screwing shut.

Bruce pumped in and out of his mouth, moaning when Crane started to move his tongue against him. Bruce looked down at him, and realized… he was never so turned on when women did this to him…. He shoved Crane down, causing the doctor to gasp for air and look up at him. It wasn't long before Bruce was shedding his clothes, moving down to top the 'librarian,' trailing kisses up his chest and neck.

Before Crane knew what hit him, he was strapped back up in the straight jacket, and Bruce had his mouth around his member, causing the smaller male to wreathe...

**** (p.s.) combining 2 ch's from AA into one here)****

"S-stop it!" he cried out, struggling in his bonds. His arms were too sore, and it pulled at the already tight muscles. Bruce of course did not stop, moving his mouth up and down the length experimentally, as it was his first time doing such a thing. He worked quite well, but to much protest from the male below him who refused to give in. "Ah! I'll kill you! Stop it!!!"

"Again, shut your mouth," he said gruffly, pulling up. He stroked a finger up the underside of Crane's member, causing the male to shudder, and arch his back. He growled, using his feet to push himself up slightly, then roll backwards, and stumble to his feet. He was quite the odd sight, nude from the waist down, and bound up in the jacket; it caused Little Bruce to twitch with want.

The bat would wait no longer either, tolerating little defiance from his… object of desire. And he knew it now to be just that: desire. He desired the danger and the challenge this man posed. He was soft and delicate, breakable, impenetrable of mind, dangerous, cold… he was everything the Batman refused to be…

He moved too fast for the off balanced bird, slamming him into the wall with his body weight, pinning the smaller one there with ease. Crane growled, desperately flailing, bucking, wreathing. He wouldn't let him have him against his will again! He cursed his body, not for the first time, for being so small, then smiled, head rolling back, "ahhh…." He sighed softly then started to laugh, "scarecroooow….." he whispered. Bruce immediately froze his kisses on the slender neck, looking up to see those shining orbs glaze over madly, "Scarecrow….." he smiled, then barked out a laugh.

He had switched, following his darker half in response to the danger, to preserve himself. Scarecrow licked his drying lips and smiled, "I'm going to escape now," he whispered in Bruce's ear. Bruce frowned, and then smirked, for that wasn't possible.

The male moved a leg up Bruce's thigh, then hoisted himself up against the wall and his captor and jumped onto his shoulders, then off and towards the unlocked door. Bruce's face hit the stone wall with the force of the jump, cracking his lip, but mostly just pissing him off. He spun around and ran after him. Bruce had the advantage of knowing his surroundings, grabbing his stool and whipping it at the back of the Scarecrow's legs. The male shrieked in pain as his legs tangled with it, making him tumble to the ground, his face hitting the stone floor.

He temporarily blacked out, and when he came too, there was the sickening realization that Bruce was dominating his body again. He shrieked, finding himself bent over the Tumbler's hood, the Batman grunting in his ear. Crane gave out a cry when he was harshly entered, his glasses yet again missing. "A-a-aaah!!!! Stoooooooop!! Oooohhhh!" he moaned, pissed at the noises that were erupting from his mouth.

"Ah fuck you're so…" Bruce was in a temporary euphoria; he'd never felt so complete during sex. However, the fact that Crane protested did eat at his conscience. He wanted to hear him moan, hear him really WANT it. That was perhaps just a sick, twisted dream for now… but no, Crane was moaning now, lifting a leg slightly to let him in deeper, harder… Jonathan's soft voice cracked as he repeated his words, " no no…." but they became less like demands than groans of pleasure.

Bruce smiled and gave an experimental thrust. "Oooh…." Came the accompanying moan. He repeated the motion, which was followed by another long moan. "s-stooo- Ohhh!"

"hm, Crane, you seem to be developing an enjoyment of this," he whispered into his ear as he jerked his hips roughly into him.

"o-oh aaah!!" he gasped, throwing his head back, as his mouth hung open and his rear began to rut back against the bat to meet each crushing thrust. The world went white when he felt something course through him, shaking his whole system, and he slipped away into somewhere pleasant, and unknown.

****

Bruce looked down at the bird whom he'd made have an orgasm, and a smile crawled onto his face. He had sounded so beautiful in his final moments before that deep pleasure. He knew Crane's body had liked what he'd done to it, but again, did Crane… did Jonathan like it? Or did Scarecrow? Did it really matter what either of them thought? They were criminals, and at his mercy…

Jonathan slept in a heavy sleep for quite some time, so long in fact that Bruce wondered if he'd hurt his head again. Bruce had even left the cave for a quick shower and change of clothes, done some work on his computer, made several phone calls and a plan for the evening.

When he returned several hours later, Jonathan was still out cold until Bruce got impatient and started to pinch him, prod him… He pinched his nose shut, causing Crane to gasp after a moment and quickly wake up, giving out a girly shriek.

"HAHahahaha!" Bruce started to laugh at the sound.

Crane was not amused, and far worse, his arms were in severe pain yet again. He looked around to figure out where he was, though without his glasses it was pretty pointless. "Where have my glasses gone?" he hissed out like boiling acid.

"Oh, those? I seem to have broken them," he said, slipping them onto Crane's face, and the bird all but had a heart attack. "BRUCE!" he screamed, flailing, trying to break free to kick his ass then probably shove his busted specs down his throat. The master had other plans however, petting Crane's darkening hair firmly, causing Crane's body to slowly relax. When he had stopped struggling, he was plucked up and carried once again to the bathroom…

*****************************************************************************************

Thank you for bearing with me! I never intended it to take so long, but I do think you'll like this chapter!! Hehe! Plz rate, comment, and tell me not to be so lazy or busy as to not post!


	17. Pretenders

Disclaimer: I do not own the Batman series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

I am so friggin sorry guys! I've been so busy, and had influenza for most of the spring break i had... so yeah it's been sucky... i hope i still have some faithful readers out there! D: hope u like!

Crane's head lolled back as Bruce nestled him down into a warm bath, his hands now cuffed to his front, the straight jacket resting over the towel rack. Crane groaned, moving them slightly to get the blood flowing again. He tried to see properly through the cracked glass of his spectacles, growling his annoyance to the bat.

"Stop whining little Crane, you have one pair left in that briefcase of yours," he chuckled.

"Then give them to me," he said in a demanding tone, quite improper for his own position.

"Well, I think we'll wait a while, now shut up for a while," he said, pulling out a remote and clicking it.

Crane had to work hard not to scream at the injustice of money. A wide, flat screen TV descended from the ceiling. Crane bit it back though and dipped down further in the water, blowing bubbles of frustration into the water. Bruce had to smile at that before turning it on and flipping to the Gotham News out of habit.

"And that, my friends, is how the chicken Really crossed the road. Back to you Bridget," ended one reporter. Bruce and Jonathan both grimaced at the horrible joke…

"As we may all recall, a Mr. Edward Pierce, beloved librarian extraordinaire disappeared about 11 days ago. Although no new leads have been found in regards to his whereabouts, the police have discovered something of interest regarding the case. We break to Jim for more of the story…"

Bruce and Jonathan both looked up with interest. Bruce wondered what they may have found that might interest him as well, while Crane wasn't sure what exactly they could 'find of interest.'

"Well, it happened that Police Officer Betty Clarings was conducting another investigation into the apartment of Mr. Pierce when she chanced upon a violin case. Inside was the violin, shown here –" they showed a beat up looking, antique violin on the screen momentarily as he continued. Jonathan began to growl at the screen. If they found that then they must have found –

"And within the violin was something truly fascinating! A journal had been surreptitiously hidden within the instrument. Upon discovery, Betty took the violin to Mr. Gordon. The police plan to take their first glance into Mr. Pierce's private life in hopes of finding his captor."

Jonathan hissed, and the Scarecrow immediately came out, jumping up in fury. His eyes were wide with murderous intent.

How dare they!? How DARE they presume themselves Worthy to look? Those were HIS private memories… his nightmares… if they saw, they would know who he was, but even worse, they would see inside of him.

They would not and could not let that happen… Jonathan and Scarecrow agreed. But soon, they realized how hard it would be to get it back as they were suddenly slammed back down into the water by a shocked and frustrated Bruce.

"Calm your ass down!" he growled.

"NO!!! I'll KILL every one of them who sees my diary, I'll kill them all… ahahahaAHAHAHAHAAA!!" he started to laugh dangerously.

Bruce slapped him across the face, "Snap the fuck out of it Crane!" he commanded.

Jonathan's eyes went seminormal for a moment, "aheh… no. I'll destroy them… it's mine… they can't see… no one can see…" his voice faded away from the insanity of scarecrow's, to the soft, dejected voice he retreated to whenever Bruce was firm with him. "My nightmares, mine,… no one can see…" he kept whispering.

"Why can't they see it? It's just a dia-"

"No it's not! Shut up!" he looked up with a glare, "you know nothing! They know nothing! You think he's so bad… that CLOWN. HAH! You still, all of you, so naïve… so utterly SAFE inside your mind there Bruce…." He went off tangent a bit, but in his mind it was all linked. Not another soul was his equal in suffering… not one other deserved to see what he'd written. Because they would never understand…

He whimpered slightly, then hissed as the news stated that some of the diary's information might be disclosed to the public if it was found relevant to the case. He screamed his fury so loudly, flailing in the tub with madness clearly taking complete control of his mind, that Bruce grimaced as he took his head and smacked it hard down onto the porcelain once more knocking him out… or so he thought. It only made CRANE black out, and released Scarecrow's full anger.

The blow to the back of Bruce's head served to get back for all the injury he'd done to Crane's head. His world went black as Scarecrow made off to take back what was his.

*******************************************************************************************

**D. 27, Mr. Boris died today… today with blood all over… so red, so beautiful! Spoons stuck from eyes, from neck and stomach… the blood ran down down down down.

And poor Jonathan was so scared. Cute little Jonathan, small, frail. He wanted to run run run away to his mummy when those calloused hands touched him. I simply giggled in the background, death death death was coming oh yes it was. One would die, but I refused to cease existence.

Mr. Boris didn't deserve to be our maker. No not him. Too many times with a ruler over hands, too many times hinting, nipping, biting. Sick sick little man, sick batty bird… sick and dead, with spoons to rust with bone now and forever. Sit under floorboard, sit, feet over you every day…

Students' soft flesh, so smooth, not yours to touch again. The blood tastes good still, and poor little flightless bird still crying in here… crying but licking the blood too. Taste it little one, it is good to end those who harm you is it not? Yes, he agrees with me… you see? You see little baby bird… you are safe with Scarecrow, you are safe…. We are safe, safe, safe… Mummy shall die next...**

-the entry was barely readable, the …'s were merely spots where the words were unreadable, smudged, smeared and crusted in blood… The words were transcribed to a word document by Betty, whom cringed at the words there…. And the mention of Scarecrow… could this really be him?! Could Pierce really be…?

*F. 13, I'm so frightened! Please help me! Anyone! No one! Not again… I'm NOT one of them daddy… I'm not! I'm not oh god daddy*

The handwriting changed from a fancy, womanly cursive to a mad, frightening scrawl…

**Daddy won't touch you if you give in to me little one. Daddy won't fuck you if you let me stab out his eyes, make HIS skin crawl with the fear you feel, destroy his loins!.. kill him kill him kill him…**

*NO! no not again no please I don't want to! No more no more blood no more! So scared!!!*

Betty almost gagged as she read on, her mind plunged so utterly into fear and disgust…

"I must tell Gordon! This is wrong! Something is wrong with all this!" she gasped. If Pierce was Crane, what evil was he planning?!

And suddenly, she screamed, a figure in a straightjacket looming over her maliciously. Betty fell down three flights of stairs after running, screaming down the hall from the Scarecrow. He was pleased with the sight, assuming her death. He calmly made his way back to her office, retrieving his journal.

"Hello again my sweet memories," he purred, nuzzling its cover before biting down on it to lift and carry with him. He turned, and found himself face to face with a VERY pissed off Batman. Caught off his guard, Scarecrow was momentarily frozen.

A fist smashed into his stomach, causing him to almost barf. He dropped the journal, gasping for air as Jonathan woke from his slumber, "wh… *hack* wha…?" he tried to see clearly through his broken glasses, and noticed the journal. He cringed, moving towards it on his stomach when a foot stomped down on the back of his neck, "achk…" he wheezed, trying to breathe and deal with the pain.

Bruce did not lift his foot. He couldn't even describe his fury with Crane…. And with himself… for allowing him to escape and harm another soul. He could hardly find it in him to forgive himself for it…

Crane should be chained to the wall, never to set foot outside again! He growled at that, lifting his foot and dropping down to come eye-to-eye with him. "LISTENT HERE CRANE! I WILL NOT TOLERATE YOU KILLING ANYONE! YOU WILL BE PUNISHED FOR THIS, BELIEVE ME, YOU WILL!"

Crane quivered, not even sure he knew what was going on… "wh-what did I do?" he asked innocently, and somewhat cockily, "is batty having delusions again?" he giggled.

"STOP WITH THE LUNACY!" he barked, dragging him out of the window and up to the top of the building.

He held him tight, rappelling down to the next building over, then into the allies. Once safely in the dark, he slammed the male down against the first semi-flat surface he could find, - a trashcan – shaking him roughly, "What the HELL is your problem!? Did you think I would let you go!? Did you think I would let them have the journal and find out who 'Pierce' is? Is it so bad anyway? Huh? Whatever you were planning to do is foiled!"

Jonathan was giggling and sobbing hysterically, "you know nothing!" he laughed. After a slap though he growled, "LET me go! You don't understand me! Stop presuming you do!" he calmed himself down to his normal, cold tone, "I wasn't the one to throw the first punch Bruce. I wasn't the one to Kidnap, beat, and rape!" he growled, "I'm a lot of things… I'm little more than a monster now………. I know that, but you… you and your heroics and morals!" he gave a laugh.

"You are playing pretend Bruce. You run about in the dark, taking down 'criminals' because they 'do bad things'." He looked away, then back, "your experience with the darkness is nothing Bruce. NOTHING compared to me. You had a BAD thing happen to your parents… you fight against BAD people, but it is all LAUGHABLE!" he laughed.

His eyes rolled for a moment to stay in control, "You can't pretend anymore Bruce… you don't know the first THING about me… about what has Created me! YOU sprayed me, YOU let him out even more, YOU have depraved and desecrated my body, and YOU love it…" he smiled, "So stop pretending to be the good guy. Stop pretending you know what I was doing."

Bruce was stunned silent for quite some time, then said quietly, "what were you doing?"

"Pretending," he answered with a harsh, cold voice before slipping away under the Scarecrow, who continued, "Pretending to be normal… pretending the monsters were gone… Little flightless bird… he's good at playing pretend… until the uninvited bat came along and destroyed it…"

He looked Batman in the face, "He was PRETENDING I didn't exist, Pretending that HE didn't exist… That all the world could be forgiven for being so UNCLEAN to the innocence of a child." He smiled, "Soft little birdie… he needed to stop dreaming anyway," he chuckled, "It's not healthy to live in a dream you know," he smiled.

Bruce again, stood stunned at the speech. How deep did this story go? What WAS Jonathan Crane…. What kind of Monster WAS Scarecrow…?

He looked down as Scarecrow lifted his hips a bit, rubbing a leg against Bruce who growled, "I'm not a fucking Queer."

"Stop pretending Batman, I know you want him. Or is it me you want? Which is it Batman? Scarecrow? Or the tiny broken birdie you love to hate so dearly?" He smiled then, "I'll leave you two alone for a while, have fun," he winked.

Crane whimpered slightly, looking at him, back hurting, and glancing at the leg he had pressed against Bruce near his groin. He looked up at Bruce, who looked ready to kill something. The man barked viciously into his face, "I'm not one of THEM!" he raised a fist to hit him, angry at the hard on he had.

However, his fist lowered when Jonathan's eyes welled with tears to hear those words. Those blue sapphires blazed all the more brightly with tears making a steady stream down his cheeks. He looked away, silent as he began to weep, chest shaking.

"I won't fall for your Crocodile tears!" Bruce hissed, angry at the tears that fell… because he knew they were… real tears of pain, sorrow, and who knew what else.

"I'm n-not… c-c-crying!" he sobbed, curling up.

"Don't pretend."


	18. Dont Tread Deep Water

Disclaimer: I do not own the Batman series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Plz Rate and Review!

Crane whimpered slightly, looking at him, back hurting, and glancing at the leg he had pressed against Bruce near his groin. He looked up at Bruce, who looked ready to kill something. The man barked viciously into his face, "I'm not one of THEM!" he raised a fist to hit him, angry at the hard on he had.

However, his fist lowered when Jonathan's eyes welled with tears to hear those words. Those blue sapphires blazed all the more brightly with tears making a steady stream down his cheeks. He looked away, silent as he began to weep, chest shaking.

"I won't fall for your Crocodile tears!" Bruce hissed, angry at the tears that fell… because he knew they were… real tears of pain, sorrow, and who knew what else.

"I'm n-not… c-c-crying!" he sobbed, curling up.

"Don't pretend."

* * *

What ensued afterwards was at first, an attempt to end the tears. He placed a firm hand on his shoulder, jerking him around so they were facing each other. He just wanted to make him stop crying there, all curled up like Bruce had done so often in his youth. He stared at him, "Stop."

Next, Bruce just grew angry when the crying proceeded unabated. He picked the bird up, dragging him to the Tumbler and dropping him into the passenger's seat. When the hysterics began, Bruce's anger approached a boiling point. He couldn't help being on such a short wick around him, with everything he'd dealt with recently over the joker, he deserved a reprieve. Instead, this … creature had entered his life, throwing it even more out of whack.

It ended with more violence than he'd intended…

* * *

Crane was surprised to wake up with sun shining in on his face, and an expectant looking Bruce standing at the foot of the bed. He shrank back slightly, at the sight of him, not ready this morning to deal with anymore psychological stress. He touched his face, feeling the dry tear stains. He then glanced at his hands in slight shock. He'd expected to wake up in chains or worse.

Instead, he found himself still in his straight jacket, but the arms weren't bound in the straps. He smiled to himself for a moment, enjoying his temporary freedom. He clenched and unclenched his fingers, rotated his wrists, then, with a timid glance in Bruce's direction to be sure he wouldn't be attacked, slowly raised his arms.

Bruce tensed slightly, but then, the male's arms were up above his head, hands reaching for the ceiling, chest arching out, spine bending backwards in… quite possibly the world's sexiest, innocent, well-deserved stretch. They slowly descended when gravity won out over the Doctor's little strength.

Eyes of blue lifted to behold Bruce yet again, recalling their heated argument of the night before… which reminded him. He looked around him to find the whereabouts of his journal.

"You won't find it," came the voice from the end of the bed, "It's safely put away."

His almost pleasant mood of the morning vanished in an instant, "Give it to me," he hissed in a dangerous, cold voice.

Bruce took one deliberate step towards the male, making Crane cower back against the pillows, almost scrambling. Bruce smiled, ever so slightly pleased by the Doctor's reaction. However, yesterday's events had shed light on a few matters that needed attending… Matters he wished he could ignore…

He approached the smaller man until he stood directly beside him, sliding onto the bed above the shivering 'librarian.' "D-don't…" came a … yes, a frightened whisper. A somewhat rough, but warm, almost calming hand came down to check the male's temperature.

"You feel hot this morning… you might be coming down with something…" Bruce frowned, then smiled, leaving the bed and then returning with a thermometer. Crane dutifully opened his mouth, but instead, Bruce's hand went lower.

An eyebrow rose when the smaller one wished to know what in the hell he was doing… "Ha-aaah!" he gasped suddenly to feel where he was 'taking his temperature' from. "I-I'm not a dog! Get it out!" he gasped. His leg was hitched up as Bruce leaned over him. After about 30 seconds, he stated, "No fever," smiling as he held the thermometer up.

Jonathan merely stared, then whimpered as his rear was still sore from the previous evening. Bruce sighed, dropping his leg. He couldn't afford to get any more addicted to this man… because today would be the last day… He would let Pierce remain a mystery to all, and turn Crane into Arkham. He couldn't keep living like this, neither of them could.

Maybe Crane could get help in Arkham, and Bruce could move on, get past this temporary insanity. Would he be forever changed by this though? He wondered if he could still get it up for a woman… would that change? Was he bisexual now, or was Crane just this freak exception, under these freak circumstances?

Crane pulled his knees up protectively, glaring dangerously at Bruce, eyes promising to pay him back for ALL of this one day. And he could hold grudges for a long… long time. He'd thought, maybe what he'd said last night might make it through Bruce's head, make him see just a little bit of the pain he dealt with, to show him he didn't need MORE pain on top of it. But instead, Bruce had done just what he was going to do all along. He hurt him more… when Crane had trusted him to listen. He looked away, angry and disappointed…

He felt the calming hand rest on his thigh and his breath hitched. Jonathan's eyes shot up to Bruce's as it gently made its way up along a smooth stomach, disappearing under the fabric of the straight jacket. He growled a warning, but it wasn't heeded.

Bruce leaned down, unable to follow his own instructions to himself. He was drawn into Jonathan, no matter how much he didn't want to be… His lips sought out pale, cool skin, moving up the bird's neck. A growl of protest escaped red, effeminate lips until Bruce wound his hand into long black hair. Now, a whimper fell from his mouth, a whimper of pain, of fear, of want…

Finally, two pairs of lips met. Timidly at first, like a question, then growing as lips moved together. Bruce was elated to feel Crane responding to the kiss, yet infuriated that they were kissing at all. Bruce's hands gripped the lovely curls at the base of Crane's neck strongly, tilting his head far back, causing his mouth to open in a slight gasp.

It was all Bruce needed, as he delved his tongue inside, tasting him all over again. Crane no longer struggled to pull away, instead responding with a quiet mewl. Possessive and affectionate walked a thin line at the moment, and Jonathan, not sure which he preferred, just reveled in any attention at all that wasn't painful… This, to him, was something quite new, and his heart momentarily thawed just enough to … to feel something other than fear or hate or misery.

Bruce tensed, ready for anything when he felt Crane's arms move; but he wasn't prepared to feel those small quivering hands curl into his own hair, to bring Bruce in for a deeper kiss. This was… bound to get out of control, but too desired by both to heed the warnings.

In but a moment, Bruce had Jonathan supported by several pillows, free of his straight jacket, and panting from their searing kiss. Strong hands began to slide up the contours of the Doctor's feminine body, pausing to squeeze a thigh and pinch at a nipple. The Dark Knight's hands wanted to gently desecrate the body of his infatuation… He knew it now that he could not resist while the temptation lingered so near. That as why, when this was over, Crane would be returned to his cell.

His hands clenched for a moment in the sheets, not wanting to let him go, but he had to, to maintain his integrity and his sanity. Batman couldn't afford to do this… whatever all of This was…. He lost his focus immediately when a shivering limb brushed past his groin. He looked down to see Crane wasn't intending his knee to do so. In retaliation, Bruce pushed against the knee, while moving a hand down, stroking the pale male's member to bring it to attention.

"A-ahh…Bruce," he gasped in a disbelieving voice. Bruce continued until they were both sporting erections. Bruce pushed a finger into Crane's mouth, grinning as Jonathan's tongue darted around it. He moaned to watch the bird's ministrations, but wanted, craved, more. He pulled his finger away, immediately moving it down to Jonathan's puckered entrance. He prepared him only briefly, wanting to end this fast, yet to have it last forever.

He stroked himself a bit more before pressing himself to that beautiful place, thrusting in without regard, embedding himself inside. Jonathan's fingers scraped the back of Bruce's shirt, "OHHhh," he groaned, muscles clenching all around Bruce's endowment. For the first time, he was enjoying Bruce's ministrations upon him. He thought fleetingly, that perhaps this was good… Maybe Bruce would become a saving grace.

Scarecrow hissed, immediately seizing at power over him, angered that the bird would even dare to believe such a thing, "S-scarecr…hnnn…" His head rolled back and Bruce gripped his face, "Don't Crane. Not now," he said strongly.

Crane whimpered, trying to stay in control. After a long moment, Scarecrow subsided. He clutched onto Bruce who began to rock himself in and out in earnest… The mattress would have creaked in protest if Wayne's mansion didn't have memory foam. However, the headboard began to slam against the well painted wall, each smack met with a heated moan from Crane's throat.

"Please! Oh… ooooh!!!" he gasped, arms scrambling over Bruce's back.

Bruce strove to drive his passion deep inside Crane, to leave it there, to never return to it again. He'd leave every bit of these feelings stay in this moment, and leave it forever. He had to, there was no other way. His hands gripped at Jonathan's hips harder, crushing him with his body and mind.

Crane arched into the bruising pressure. His pale flesh flushed during such strain, shedding light to small scars along his flesh Bruce had failed to notice under other conditions. "What are these?" he whispered into his ear.

"Don't tread deep water," Crane replied with a soft whisper. "just don't…" his voice cracked, then released into a loud moan, growing closer to his release.

Bruce hiked the pale one's hips up, pushing till the small figure was bent almost in half. He touched knees to shoulders. Crane's eyes grew larger than normal, shocked at the position, how deep Bruce could get, how hard and perfect he was taken. He couldn't take anymore, however, and screamed in pleasure as he had the most delicious orgasm of his life… though there had been few to begin with.

Bruce slammed in a few last times, rutting wildly before he hissed, spilling his seed within him.

Lips clashed down onto Crane's possessively, and one heart swelled for a moment. But that one swell would only doom its holder… for the next time he woke, only pain would linger there…

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	19. Throbbing

Disclaimer: I do not own the Batman series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Plz Rate and Review!

* * *

Consciousness came to him unexpectedly painfully, so much so that it was confounding. How, on earth could it be that he had felt so utterly… whole just hours(?) earlier… and now nothing but pain existed. Why?

First, it was a deep stinging in the fingers, then a searing pain in the wrists… He wondered vaguely if Bruce had left for the evening. That must be it, for of course he would be bound in cuffs or the straight jacket.

For a moment he relaxed at the familiarity of it. However, when the pain crawled up his arms, over his shoulders, and then the ferocious burning in his chest, it dawned on him that this was atypical… something was off.

He found, he couldn't draw the strength to open an eyelid, much less move a limb. Could he have perhaps angered Bruce?

He tried to open his mouth, but to his morbid realization, his mouth not only couldn't open, but that it burned his throat to try to speak. He almost choked, drawn faster out of his deep unconsciousness by the growing doubt.

He doubted that Bruce would have hurt him this extensively, at least not on purpose.

The burning in his chest grew worse by the moment, as if the closer to waking he grew, the worse the pain became. It spiraled down his thighs, his knees, even his feet.

Worst of all, a deep stabbing throb in the back of his head rose to the forefront of his attention.

It pounded from the base of his skull and neck, wrapping around, creeping over his temples, pushing at his eyes. This … this could not be his doing, but if not, why was this pain here? What had happened? They'd been so … so good before right? And Jonathan had been on his best behavior...

Scarecrow reared up in his head angrily, 'betrayal betrayal betrayal betrayal betrayal betrayal,' he began, starting as a whisper, quickly becoming a mental shout.

'No,…' he shook his head mentally, 'he wouldn't, not after…' his heart swelled again, almost smiling inwardly at what he'd felt.

'Fool.' It was a simple statement, but hissed with such acid, Crane would have cringed if he could.

Hours passed as he struggled to regain complete control of himself. It seemed like fighting to get through a gelatinous wall… a wall he was beginning to recognize… a wall that could only be medically induced.

Had Bruce drugged him? And when did he start calling Bruce 'Bruce' in his mind? It had been 'Batman' before,… He disregarded that in lieu of greater worries.

He'd heard something, at first, thinking it to be of his imagination, but no, he heard it again. Like the click of a lock, then shoes… shoes until he was certain the owner was beside him. Then, a new pain in his arm, a needle… Why was Bruce doing this?

Unfortunately, he found no answer as the drugs from the shot lulled him back into near unconsciousness for some hours to come.

* * *

When he came around slowly, he awoke to more pain than he had felt before, the medicine petering out dully. His limbs were able to move just barely, yet when his head tried, it became too much to bare. He cringed, eyebrows knit together. When his lips parted, he could taste dried flecks of blood, and feel the tear that split his lower lip.

Had Bruce and himself gotten into a fight? He whimpered now, fighting to wake, more than before.

He wanted to see the aristocratic wallpaper of the bedroom, feel the luxurious bed sheets beneath himself, and be able to scoff at the unnecessary splendor. He wanted so badly, to feel them, to touch these fine things, only to frown upon them. And he wanted to open his eyes to a kind butler and to him.

How hard he had fallen for him!

He loathed the Batman, hated him. It would please him to personally send him to hell. He'd even send him with a greetings card to the devil himself! A singing one maybe? It'd be something like: "I will survive!" or "Funky Town" and have a handwritten message like: "Sent you a present! Yours truly, Jonathan."

And yet, he was thrilled to be around him, to play with the man's emotions, to pick at his mind… and more.

He, he enjoyed the company, even if it was torturous. He wanted the attention, even if negative. He wanted what Bruce gave him, whatever it was… a commonality… a companionship, even if it was a frail bond between enemies.

To be able to let himself go, to be whatever he was, and not have to be anything else… that was what he was given.

He'd felt good, for the first time in so long. He'd felt a sense of something,… deep.

He wondered then, if it was something he had wanted since he was a child. Was this… that word… that word he had never used when referring to himself. Love……?

He shivered, then noticed how much more the pain grew in his chest just to think it. He turned his mind to more pressing matters… i.e. why he was in such great pain!

And then, all too suddenly, as he moaned, trying to lift his head, there was another set of shoes stomping in, and yet another painful prick.

And all was black again…

* * *

This time, he could do nothing but scream when he came to. Too much pain! Scarecrow ceased to find this amusing. He needed to know what the hell was going on.

Forcing his eyes open with strength Crane hadn't known he possessed, his eyes were met with white walls… walls that were covered in padding…

He was kneeling, strapped to the floor by chains, his wrists pulled behind him painfully, latched to another chain in the ceiling. His head was forced up by a brace, and his mouth was covered with a muzzle.

Taking in the whiteness,… and the white window, with the small glass window… his world crashed in around him as reality made itself known.

Bruce had thrown him to the wolves… he had used him, and thrown him out… like an old, trashy toy… socks with holes in them.

A sudden sickness came over him, from the base of his heart, to the pit of his stomach. He wanted to vomit, it hurt so badly. It welled up all around and within, the pain of betrayal… of discovering he'd felt more than was truth. And God how it ate at him! Scarecrow whispered in his ear, 'fool,' and it burned all the more. Such pain…

It hit him hard, to realize that his eyes… the dams built up had fallen, and tears of betrayal and hurt and more betrayal flowed down his face like an angry flood.

The very last bit of him capable of feeling love, of feeling anything human, had been toyed with and torn to pieces.

He leaned his head back what little it could move, screaming. He couldn't stop, screaming till his throat went raw, until he could scream no more, and then there was just sobs, silent, all his tears petered out. The wells ran dry, rivers coughing, dying. All that could be done, was to weep in dry heaves, then jerk back when more steps approached, a lock opened, boots hitting the floor, and another jarring pain.

* * *

Life held no more meaning when he awoke. It was empty. Since the rise of Batman, his life had begun an ever quickening spiral downward. Now, he felt he had hit bottom, and nothing lay there but his own tattered soul.

In the end, life had laughed in his face, kicking him when he was down, time and again. At one point, it had been fun at least… a challenge, to have an intellect, or someone of wit to play with… but this had crossed play.

In so many ways, the play had lead to a bond, a bond that in the end, destroyed him. Utterly. Inconsolably. Excruciatingly.

What did he have left? Memories of every injustice he'd been dealt. Memories of the horrors he'd had to endure. Nightmares of the torment, and now the vision of a face he could never forget.

Days passed, maybe weeks. He could not tell. Not even the ticking of a clock, or the shadows on the wall could tell him what time of day it was.

At irregular periods, a man would enter, hit him, curse at him, medicate him and leave. At other irregular times, a woman and two guards would enter. She would feed him by forcing food into his mouth, or if he wouldn't swallow, they'd insert an IV or a tube into his throat with pudding or porridge or some other semi liquid.

He was wasting away, but as his nightly screams became louder, more terrified, more animal and empty, a neighbor was giggling away in his cell, enjoying the madness, laying on a cot, counting the screams and loving it. How interesting, this, Dr. Jonathan Crane, previous head of Arkham, was. How ironic the good doctor would find himself holed up in here! And what were those screams for? He was just dying to know!

Soon, no sounds but screams or sobs could be heard from that cell, and few employees would venture down to see just how far from grace their once mentor had fallen.

* * *

Bruce picked up an issue of the "Gotham Times" to surreptitiously see how Crane was faring. The tabloids were obsessed with the Scarecrow's sudden reappearance. One moment the leads had run cold, and the next, Batman had him out cold, and dropped in front of the Gotham Police Dept.

He needn't turn a page, for the Doctor's face was plastered to the front page. He found himself stroking the picture with a finger, then growled at himself. He shook his head then began to read:

*DOCTOR JONATHAN CRANE, PSYCHOTIC CRIMINAL MYSTERY!

-Discovered on foot of stairs two weeks ago. Mr. Gordon plans to address the public on the state of said criminal this evening.-

-Questions as to whether the alleged fiend will be given proper trial soon shall be answered.-

Meanwhile, inside sources from Arkham, describe the Doctor's state as highly unstable and dangerous.

"Screams constantly emit from the cell. We fear our safety should he be unstrapped. For now, he is heavily sedated with meds for his own and our safety," says one source who wishes to remain anonymous.

Little is known about Dr. Crane. His resume was devoid of anything out of the ordinary, but no personal information is known of him. He graduated top of his class at his university, but no one seems to recall his face.

The only criminal about whom we know less, is perhaps Dr. Crane's new neighbor: The Joker.

Quite the enigma, the public and police hope to discover more information soon. Maybe Batman could shed some light on the situation?

Mr. Gordon's address is likely to be enlightening at least.

-Margareta Hansen *

Alfred set a cup of Earl Grey down on the tray at Bruce's side, "Master Bruce… If I might say something?"

"Yes Alfred?" he asked, not looking up from the short article.

"Are you, alright with the current state of affairs?" he asked with concern, his hand resting on the back of Bruce's chair.

"Perfectly fine with them, why?" he huffed.

"Because, it is evident you are unhappy," Alfred sighed, "Is it the Doctor?" he asked, looking over the headlines.

Bruce rubbed his forehead, "It's just… I don't know what's happening to him there. I'm not sure why I care, or if I even do care… I need to cut him out of my life. He is a criminal, he deserves his fate."

"It would seem so, to anyone less informed, but you are denied that ignorance, Master Wayne," he said sagely. "I am sorry you are in this position of confusion. I trust, in the end, you'll do the right thing."

"How do you know? I've already done the wrong thing… The things I did to him… and God Alfred I was a monster! But there at the end…." He sighed. He'd felt something… felt Crane reciprocate affection… but now it was left to fester. It was like knowing what could have been, without being able to see it.

"Why doesn't Bruce Wayne take an interest in Arkham?" Alfred suggested.

Bruce perked up at that, a small smile spreading over his face.

Meanwhile, the bird had slowly stopped flailing, no longer calling out for help. He had no more will in him to struggle onwards. As Scarecrow rightly called him, he was nothing but a flightless bird, with a heart throbbing for what could never be.

* * *

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	20. Broken

Disclaimer: I do not own the Batman series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Plz Rate and Review!

PS.

APOLOGIES to all readers. I've had a lot going on, so I made the chapter doubly long!

Previously:

"Why doesn't Bruce Wayne take an interest in Arkham?" Alfred suggested.

Bruce perked up at that, a small smile spreading over his face.

Meanwhile, the bird had slowly stopped flailing, no longer calling out for help. He had no more will in him to struggle onwards. As Scarecrow rightly called him, he was nothing but a flightless bird, with a heart throbbing for what could never be.

* * *

The next morning, Bruce arose with at least the hope of checking on Crane. He told himself repeatedly that he was just ensuring the criminal was secure….

Yeah right.

He was just making sure Crane was taken decent care of….

Not really…

Okay so he was going because he was weak! But, he just had to check, had to see his face. Plus… the article had mentioned screaming… was Scarecrow in complete control now or was Jonathan in trouble?

He sighed, swinging his feet off the bed, slipping on a pair of slippers and scuffling down to the kitchen. Fox was already in the kitchen speaking with Alfred over a cup of coffee. Bruce walked past them, taking out a bowl, a box of Smacks Cereal, milk and a spoon. He plopped down at the table to eat the childish cereal, while Fox could hardly hold in a laugh.

"What?" Bruce asked defensively.

"Oh nothing Mr. Wayne, just thinking, how Gotham's criminals would fall over, laughing themselves silly to see THE Batman eating Smacks for breakfast," he grinned.

Bruce shrugged and sighed, not in the mood for a battle of wits or grammar or diction. Just a few more hours before he could possibly see those lightening blue eyes….

Blazing through breakfast and a shower, Bruce was soon dressed for the day and setting up a meeting with the current head of Arkham Asylum, Mr. Hawkins.

"Yes, with the recent increase in crime and the criminally insane, I think my company might be able to assist Arkham Asylum," he was stating over the phone, "yes, would a visit this morning be plausible?"

He grinned at how well the phone call was going, "Well I'd like to see the entire facility, from the basement up –" he paused as the other spoke, "-no I understand what you mean, haha yes I'd like to see even where the Joker lives," he chuckled with the other man.

"Alright then, I will be there about 11 o'clock," he stated, nodding before hanging up the phone. Leaning back in his chair to relax, he gave out a heavy sigh. He wanted to go right now, but to do so would make him look by far much too eager. What did a millionaire care about a bunch of whackos? Surely THE Bruce Wayne would rather spend his time with women than with psychopaths.

Driving a brand-new silver Acura, (which in his case was being Modest), he drove a bit faster than intended, to reach Arkham Asylum. Upon entering the facility, he was patted down and checked for anything metallic or sharp. His pen was confiscated until he would be ready to leave. His keys were put into a lockbox as well.

The place, being located within the narrows, was not very… tidy. Nor was it incredibly High-Tec. He scoffed at the look of some of the grimy employees, who didn't look much better than their prisoner-patients.

Bruce asked for Mr. Hawkins, and slightly impatiently sat in a chair, waiting for the man. After waiting twenty minutes in the dimly lit room, he started to fidget, hearing moans, groans, and curses through the hall. He hoped not to be here too long, just check on the bird and get the hell out. Besides, what the hell was taking him so long??

He frowned, standing up and walking to the attendant, "Ma'am, is Mr. Hawkins available or not?" he asked, while tapping a foot.

She looked up at his handsome face, flushing, "He is aware you're h-here Mr. Wayne…" she stammered, "however, they're trying to shower... _The Joker,_" she whispered, "So he's very busy, would you like me to arrange someone else to be your escort while he's busy?"

He sighed, nodding. This was Not how he was typically received to a place; Most times he was treated as the most important person wherever he went! He struggled to keep his face and tone friendly, "Yes please."

* * *

Meanwhile, the staff of Arkham was working diligently to make sure The Joker was under enough tranquilizers and meds to keep him controllable while showering him. Each patient was given a showerhead along the wall to stand under. Amusingly, the patients were smart enough (or perhaps simply too scared) not to stand anywhere close to The Joker. Of course, not all of the patients were given shower times at once. Shower days were on Tuesdays and Thursdays for higher level criminals, and today was Thursday, the only day they showered The Joker, for fear of giving him too much freedom.

It so happened that Jonathan was also on the same time schedule as The Joker today. However Jonathan had no idea what was going on at all. He had no strength or will to stand, so his arms were bound up above his head to a pipe while an employee washed his body. He flinched away every time the cloth touched his naked skin, only vaguely aware that his body was laid bare for all in the room to see. Other than that, he showed no sign of being even remotely conscious.

The Joker's head slowly turned over to Jonathan eyeing his effeminate face then traveling down his body with scrutiny. THIS was the famous Scarecrow? Heeheehaaahaaa! Not a chance… although, the irony of such a tiny little thing making someone scream… heh, that indeed would be too hilarious.

He gave a loopy grin, standing in his usual half slouch, cocking his head and 'dropping' his soap. Ambling slowly over to get his soap bar, the employee washing Jonathan scooted waaaaaay back out of the man's way, for she wasn't paid anywhere near enough to risk her life standing close to the psychopath. At least Jonathan wasn't known for being physically dangerous.

Jonathan hadn't realized she'd stopped washing him, simply hanging there in the warm water, gazing at the tiles ahead of him. A large, calloused hand came to rest on Jonathan's head, fisting his hair to pull his face up. He met a pair of wild eyes that stared into him.

"Heehee this is THE Scarecrow eh?" he asked him, "What a uh, pleasure to meet yah," he smirked, patting his cheek sharply. "You look ill Crow," he stated the obvious, "why so blue?"

He was given no reply, as if he didn't exist. Now, one thing everyone knew, was that The Joker hated to be ignored. When Jonathan failed to respond, his patience dwindled, the drugs taking less and less effect upon him. "Crooooow," he sang, "knock knock is uh, anyone home?"

Still nothing.

The Joker's eyes narrowed dangerously…

* * *

Bruce yawned, dear god this was perhaps the most boring tour he'd ever been given. If not for his amusing tour guide, he might have fallen asleep. Dr. Harleen Quinzel was intriguing; upbeat and always smiling, he wondered how such a bright spirit had made its way to such a dreary place as Arkham.

She bounced along, pointing to different halls, offices, cell blocks, training areas, excersise rooms, the art therapy room, … all of it just… fine. He didn't really care about the dimensions of the gym or water therapy or about the potluck the employee's threw every Friday, but he made a point to make remarks, smile, nod, look half interested.

"Want to see the shower facility?" she asked him, turning with a bounce to look at him, "It is one of our newest additions. The shower facility used tah be much smaller y'know, with individ'yalized shower stalls, but what with our patients having many number a' phobias, our developers decided a large gym-like shower room was better for the male psyche. Now it's done in group blocks, and I believe today we have," she looked at a listing on a door, "Ron Calvers, Ignatious Mathos, Jon Foster, Corvin McKeeny, Charles Roskins, Jonathan Crane, and The Joker," she stated.

He looked at the form quickly then her, and nodded, trying to look more interested in the facility than in the fact that he'd see Crane, naked. God what was wrong with him?? But, wait,.. the Joker? Naked? Hell that was one thing he could go all his life without seeing, and die the happier for it.

She swiped her pass through the key slot and opened the door for him, stepping into a room with a wide window. It had a changing room and the window showed off the showering room. A large pair of doors then led to where the convicts were supposed to shower; however, at the moment, all eyes were directed over to one corner.

"Oh Dear Dear Dear," Harleen sighed, "making a fuss again," she stated after seeing what was going on.

The Joker had a hand around Jonathan's throat, holding one of the extendable showerheads in his face, half drowning Jonathan, who had yet to react. Jonathan's limp body hung uselessly below the grasp the Joker had upon his throat; his eyes were sunken as if he didn't have will to do anything to save himself. It didn't appear anyone was even inside the husk of Dr. Crane.

She opened the doors and glared at the one who was supposed to be washing Jonathan, as well as the guards in the room, "Honestly, you're just standing there you buffoons!" she shook her head and walked over to the pair in the corner.

Bruce was growling from the doorway, but couldn't risk getting involved for fear of revealing his skills. Harleen stomped right up to The Joker, hands on her hips, "Mr. J, what ARE you doing?" she asked accusingly.

"Tryin tuh wake a dead bird," he smiled at her, lowering the showerhead a bit and trying to look innocent. "Always wanted to be a veT-uh you know."

"I don't think it's going to work Mr. J," she pouted, "So won't you be a doll and give Dr. Crane back to his attendant?" she asked sweetly.

He seemed for a moment to consider his options before shrugging and dropping Jonathan to the floor. Jonathan made no moves to stand, much less move. The Joker cackled, using his foot to nudge the feminine male with his large foot, then sticking his toes against his cheek and chuckling more for the enjoyment of it.

Bruce decided to chance walking into the room, "Is he okay?" he asked, pointing to the tiny form on the floor. He was pissed the Joker was touching HIS Jonathan with that grimy foot… did he just think 'HIS'?

Crane's attendant came back over, pulling Jonathan up into a sitting position, holding him up. However, when his head rolled back and his eyes caught sight of Bruce, he let out an ear piercing scream.

The Joker started to laugh insanely, slapping his knees (p.s. he's got a tiny towel round his waist :P) "Oh Crow, too funny, does mill'yonaire Brucey Whiney scare you more than me?" He found it impossibly amusing! Was hot-stud-muffin Bruce Wayne scary to Crow? Did he resemble someone scary? Someone who'd hurt him before? Oh what he wanted to find out about the screaming bird…. He wanted to change the scream into a Squeal…. Yes indeed….

Bruce did not find it funny though… True, he'd pulled the wool over the male's eyes, letting him feel good, then dumping him here… but it was better for both of them right? Soon Jonathan would get professional help. Yes. He'd done the right thing.

Jonathan screamed ceaselessly, not relenting until a Guard rushed over with a sedative and lifted him up, "I'm taking him back," he growled, angry about the stupid man's behavior. Jonathan started to sob as his screams died down due to the drug.

As he was taken away, Bruce felt a pang of guilt… just seeing Bruce had driven the Doctor to screams and sobs… "Where does he get taken? And the others?" he asked now curious looking, "What are the cells like for the high-risk patients?" he asked Harleen, who was actually shaking a finger at The Joker.

"Oh, well Doctor Crane is in a unique cell at the moment. He is too unpredictable to handle, or to treat right now. That Batman really must have done a number on the fella. I'll show you in a moment if yah'd like Mr. Wayne."

The Joker grinned at Harvey's accent poking through. She was quite the amusement amidst all the boredom this rot-fuck-hole was. Oh…. Hey, what a thought indeed! Fuck-hole… he was long past due for a good rut, and a GOOOOD one might take off the edge off his swiftly growing boredom. His lips cracked into a huge grin, now, whom might he get for the evening…? He had an idea….

Bruce frowned, while Harvey turned back to The Joker, "Mr, J., now wonchu be a peachy-pie and finish your shower?" she asked, poking his chest.

He let out a delighted cackle and squirted her feet with the shower head, making her jump, "Alright Harley," he smirked and put the showerhead back up and rinsed his head.

"Thanks puddin'." She turned back to Bruce and waved for him to follow her.

"How on earth did you make THE Joker listen to you???" he asked her once in the hallway, suddenly amazed.

"It's all a matter of playing to personality Mr. Wayne. Mr. J likes attention, he likes to get his way, and he likes humor. Why get mad at him for being jeeyuuuuust a bit off the band wagon?" she shrugged.

He cocked his head, "Um that makes very little sense to me… I don't see how that keeps a criminal so compliant…"

She giggled, "Oh he knows very well that he's in prison, and at the moment cannot get out, so if I make it so he can still amuse himself, then he is more apt to be agreeable with us," she stated.

Bruce just shook his head, "Whatever you say," he smiled and then looked around, trying to get some insight to the layout of this place.

* * *

She soon led Bruce to where the high-security cells were and pointed out, "Here's Doctor Crane's cell hun."

Crane was being strapped back up to a cot, once again in a straight jacket… it seemed to Bruce that straightjackets suited the pale doctor well… it even made his loins tingle with excitement, which caused him to frown, redirecting his attention to Crane's cell. It was padded, the door left ajar as the large man strapped Crane down.

Bruce surveyed the hall, glancing around casually for cameras and door security scanners. He glanced back into the cell when Jonathan whimpered.

Jonathan couldn't move, could hardly breath, and couldn't focus on anything but the image of a face he loved and hated with equal passion. His heart ached…. Bled…. Withered. His eyes opened, lips parting as if to speak before he let out a wheezed sob and shut his eyes once more, burying himself back into the back of his mind, hiding away from the outside world.

Bruce decided he'd had enough,… Crane would be… fine, he hoped. He looked at Harley, "Well, I really appreciate all the time you've spent on giving me the full tour today Ms. Quinzel," he took her hand, shaking it.

She smiled bright and cheerfully, shaking his enthusiastically, "anytime hun! C'mon back anytime you'd like, maybe during lunch?" she smiled flirtatiously.

He chuckled. He had to hand it to her, she had spunk. He smiled, "Perhaps," then bade her farewell, following a guard back up to the entry of Arkham. Mr. Hawkins was there to see him off, discussing a few things with him, mainly ideas about what Bruce might be interested in funding.

Bruce just listened, speaking back cordially, but also with slimming patience. "Yes, I'll meet with you next week," he agreed, then took his leave.

************************************

That evening at dinner, which was served to the Joker in his cell, a deal was struck. The Joker would no longer take jabs at his guards' psyche or threaten his life anymore, if he was given a certain someone to have 'playtime' with for the night, once all the nurses left, and the lights went out until morning. It was a Very good deal in-deeeed.

He ate his Jello with vigor and snarffed down his meatloaf so that he could prepare for his little… guest. He yearned for a window, but at least Harley had gotten his makeup back to him to help appease to his better nature and remain compliant as possible. He fixed up his makeup now, and greased his hair back to look his BESsstuh.

When his 'guest' was thrust into the room, and fell to the floor in a drugged haze, The Joker circled, like a grinning shark.

"Nice of you tuh,… jooin me Crow," he drawled, as if his visitor had chosen to 'drop by.'

Jonathan slowly opened his eyes, hearing the predatory tone to the voice. He turned his head slowly, tiredly, and dejectedly towards its source, eyes leveling on The Joker. He could now recognize the face through his slowed senses. That Glasgow, painted face… this must be the circus-criminal everyone had been yapping about; the Clown Prince of Crime,… The Joker. He didn't react to this knew information though… he reacted to little anymore.

"My… how the cards have fallen…" Joker remarked, "You were once quite the sight to behold, so I hear by some of the screams in this hell-hole," he smirked, "but now look at you Crow. Bundle of shivering fucking meat is all you are now. The hell happened to the prissy, princess of Arkham mm? I uh, beT you're still in there somewhere."

Jonathan's eyes rolled a bit, pain from the drugs, his mind, and heart throbbing. Scarecrow wanted to rip this dumb clown fuck's face off… while Jonathan just wanted to crawl away into a hole.

"You know what else I beT?" The Joker continued, walking ever closer to his prey. "I bet, that by the time I'm done with yah, you'll be squealing, screaming, and creaming," he grinned, leaning over him knowingly. "You will come to fear ME, above all others," he chuckled, squatting down to brush a calloused knuckle over Crane's cheek.

Jonathan slowly came to a realization: The Joker… THE Fracking-crazy-as-a-lark-on-crack Joker was… was going to… No..no no no nonono…

He slowly began to shake his head from one side to the other to say no. The Joker was pleased at his reaction, stroking his hand down Jonathan's face, which was devoid of glasses. "What soft skin you have there Crow," he smiled, running a hand down his neck. His eyes roamed on down Crane's body, deciding that Jonathan was far too clothed. He reached down, unclasping his arms in the jacket, then yanking it up above Jonathan's head.

The sight that he was given made him quite pleased. Jonathan's chest heaved slightly with the stress he was currently under. The Joker's face split into a wide grin, hands coming down to his chest and running his hands down it. He normally didn't like to rape… he thought it was very base, and he was a higher class of criminal. But for the love of all that was unholy and unclean, he was stuck in this damn prison for now, and had little chance of release without having to resort to this.

Jonathan gave a soft whimper, not wanting to be touched. He didn't want to crawl out of his hidey-hole to put the joker in his place. He retreated further back into his mind as the Joker raked his fingernails down his chest, drawing forth tiny droplets of blood.

The Joker split a grin, his scars stretching in a horrific way. Jonathan had yet to look fearful of him, which made the clown chuckle amusedly. He leaned down, pulling Jonathan's head up slowly to his, brushing his lips against Crane's ear, "I'm going to make you squeal like the little Girl you are, Crow," he smirked.

Scarecrow doubted it, until he felt something horrifically huge and long thrust into poor Jonathan's body without warning, preparation, or lubrication. Immediately, the two personalities who existed within Jonathan burst out in a scream that could have woken the dead. Blood slowly slid down pale thighs as the Joker set forth an alarmingly fast pace; grimy, sharp fingernails bit harshly into white soft hips, leaving crescent-moon shaped marks over the exposed flesh.

The Joker drew a sharp fingernail over Jonathan's lips, cratching a long path up either side of his face, leaving a deep grove, blood slowly flowing down an ivory neck from the new etched smile. If Crane hadn't been heard the first time he screamed, he certainly was after the Joker bit his lips hard enough to split the skin right through, blood now flooding Jonathan's mouth making him gag as the Joker's hips violently thrust against him.

"H-haaaaaa!!! S-s-s-stop!" Came the first words out of the good doctor's mouth in a long time.

"oooooh well wel-cum to the land of the uh, living there Crow," he smirked, pistoning extra hard into him. "Your voice is QuiTe a bit more,… girly than I ex-pected," he whispered, "hey, say my name," he grinned, wanting to hear it.

Jonathan shook his head no, brought out of his coma-like state by the impossible pain splitting him in two. "N-no…"

The Clown Prince smirked down at his Prissy Princess, "Say it," he grunted in warning.

Jonathan clamped his lips shut, pain mounting as the Joker's hips were unrelenting… but suddenly the Joker stopped thrusting and pulled out with a wet sounding 'pop.'

The scarred male reached down to part Jonathan's entrance with two fingers, "I Will shove my whole hand up your tiny little fuck-hole Crane, if you don't say my Name," he growled out a grizzly threat.

Jonathan absolutely refused, shaking. He had never experienced The Joker before, so what others would know was a gruesome promise, Jonathan took as an empty, over-exaggerated threat…. Poor little Jonathan….

* * *

The squeal of shock, and shriek of shear agony that ripped through his throat when the Joker followed through with the threat caused even Bruce to jerk awake with no idea as to why he suddenly felt like something horrid had happened. He looked around the dark, lonely room and let out a sigh, pushing his bangs back out of his face.

Well fuck him with a stick… he felt LONELY…. When the hell had that started? He brought his knees up to his chest in thought, glancing at the clock which read 4 am. He rubbed his eyes with the backs of his hands. He had this feeling, one that said, "Bruce, today is going to SUCK."

Dragging heavy feet, the young man shuffled to his equally empty bathroom, grimacing as the room echoed his singular steps, as if mocking him. The hot water did nothing to alleviate his quickly souring mood. It was like… a case of crankiness doubled with anxiety and a dash of pissed.

Sinking into his favorite chair in his study, he sighed. Usually, if he couldn't sleep, he'd just peruse the city in the Tumbler or upon the rooftops, looking for trouble… but dammit nothing happened at 4 am in the fucking morning… He wanted to sleep. He wanted a deep pair of sapphires to glisten at him from the darkness of his bedroo- Fuck….

He pressed his hand to his forehead, "Damn…" he sighed, closing his eyes and struggling to sleep. By the time 6 am rolled around, he had mother-fluffing ants in his pants, tapping his fingers loudly on a wooden side table. He was relieved when the hour struck so he could flick on his Plasma TV to watch the morning news. Thank GOD he did….:

"Breaking NEWS!" stated the female news anchor, holding a microphone to her lips as she walked fast, followed by the camera, "At five this morning the Gotham City Hopsital received a distressed call from Arkham Asylum concerning one of it's patients. From what we have been able to dig up as we've been here, it appears that the infamous Scarecrow, or Dr. Jonathan Crane, has been rushed to the ER for multiple severe injuries. All we know about the cause are two frightening words: The Joker," she paused for effect as she breathed heavily, pushing into the hospital alongside thirty other reporters all trying to get the story. She pushed her microphone in the face of one of the nurses, "Have you any news about the current condition of the 'victim'?" she asked.

The Nurse looked flustered, backing away, "You're all unwelcome here get out! We're busy enough witho-"

She was left behind by the throng of reporters invading the building. The reporter, her name was Ellie Srongo pointed to a side door and snuck over with her cameraman in tow, effectively leaving behind the confused throng of news-whores. She pressed a finger to her lips and pressed on, doctors and nurses rushing by her like she didn't exist.

They were all rushing in and out of one room that had all the beds shoved out into the hall to make room for the guards and police as well as surgeons, doctors, and nurses.

The cameraman zoomed in on the scene, first of all, Jonathan's deathly pale face and the blood all over his nearly naked body. His face had red marks up from his mouth in a small imitation of the Joker, his lips busted open where he'd been bit so badly the wound went straight through, causing his upper and lower lip to have an identical vertical split that would without a doubt scar if it healed at all.

Jonathan was screaming hoarsely as an oxygen mask was forced onto him. The rest of his body was in no better shape than his mouth. Long fingernails had left vicious scratches down his body. Around his stomach were large bruises, crescent fingernail bites bleeding, and a bleeding stab wound from a piece of the Joker's bed that the Clown had fashioned into a sharp, knife-like weapon, or in his case, sex toy that had a lot of Bark.

Worst of all, and yes the camera roamed even further down, was Jonathan's lower body. A hospital blanket had been laid over his lower half, but it was stained deep red, and where his legs appeared from under it, blood covered them in streams, and the bed too was stained crimson, dripping onto the floor.

Bruce stared at the bloody scene upon the TV in deep… deep… shock. HIS Jonathan was… bleeding to death… The remote practically hovered in the air as he whizzed off to his Lamborghini, and it only clattered to the floor after he was halfway to the hospital.

Ellie continued to tell Gotham the stage by stage updates about what she could gather. "It seems like, he's bleeding from somewhere under that blanket the most,… only time will tell if ex-Head of Arkham Asylum will survive this run-in with The Joker… The Crown Prince of Crime seems to have shown his colors against the Scarecrow…." She said solemnly.

She gasped then, turning when she saw Bruce Wayne being ushered in by a nurse. He was clutching his arm, a look of pain on his face. He'd purposely broken his arm to be able to get into the ER without anyone knowing why he was really there. She fussed over him but he looked up as if shocked to see all those people there, "woah what's going on?"

Ellie rushed over with a Microphone, "Mr. Wayne! What's happened to you?!" she thrust the mic into his face. He blinked as if stupefied, "erm… I think I had a bit too much at the club and fell down some stairs… what's going on here?"

The camera went back to Jonathan and Ellie went back to her spot as she continued her report as an answer to Bruce. He rolled his eyes,… she was obviously a born reporter. He watched the scene unfold, wishing he could do something…

"We're losing him!" shouted a doctor, and the frenzy went up again as Nurses ran for bags of the correct blood type, surgeons called for more sutures. Bruce could hardly contain his malice for the Joker who'd dared to touch HIS Jonathan… That man would pay….. but first things first… Jonathan…. He looked at the small male fighting for his life with deep sorrow, regret, and pain… His chest ached and he knew suddenly that Jonathan, if he survived, could not go back to that place….

Never again…. No. He had a plan.

'Just hold on Jonathan…. Please hold on….'

* * *

Don't forget, rate, review or else! It's how I thrive!

I hope you all enjoyed! Rate rate rate!


	21. Conclusions preview of things to come

Disclaimer: I do not own the Batman series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Plz Rate and Review!

Short short short chapter as prelude into a new long chap I'm developing…

This is a Teaser if you will ^_^

Previously:

"We're losing him!" shouted a doctor, and the frenzy went up again as Nurses ran for bags of the correct blood type, surgeons called for more sutures. Bruce could hardly contain his malice for the Joker who'd dared to touch HIS Jonathan… That man would pay….. but first things first… Jonathan…. He looked at the small male fighting for his life with deep sorrow, regret, and pain… His chest ached and he knew suddenly that Jonathan, if he survived, could not go back to that place….

Never again…. No. He had a plan.

'Just hold on Jonathan…. Please hold on….'

************************************

The paparazzi were finally forced to wait in the lobby around 8 am, and Bruce was released from the ER with an arm brace around 9 am. Throughout the day, Bruce sat in his study eyeing the TV to be kept up to date with Jonathan's condition.

Bruce's blood BOILED when another reporter stood in front of Jonathan's cell speaking with one of the guards.

"So how exactly DID Jonathan Crane end up with The Joker?" She asked.

"Ah… well… I'm not sur-"

"From what we know, Dr. Crane was in no condition to move on his own, so how or why would he be in the Joker's cell?"

"I don't kn-"

The camera abandoned the stunned guard to zoom in on the Joker's cell. The orderlies were escorting the clown out to get him cleaned and put in a different cell so they could investigate the room. Police were now stepping into the bloody room as the Joker cackled, blood all over his hands and pants. The camera went from his face to the room and the reporter gasped.

Jonathan's blood splattered the walls, one had a large stain, dripping down to the floor gruesomely. On the bed where the Joker slept were many puncture holes as if stabbed, blood spots all over, but worst was the dripping from the end of it where Jonathan had been tortured.

Bruce broke the teacup in his hand, growling viciously. Alfred sighed, taking the pieces from Bruce's hand, "Master Bruce…" he began, but Bruce held up a tired hand, his other still in the sling.

"Sorry…" Bruce said quietly, bending over to help. Alfred nodded, patting his arm.

"Bruce… I've never seen you react this way… What do you plan to do now?" He asked, very concerned for the young master he'd known since birth.

Bruce lifted weary eyes, "I… I can't take it anymore… I can't just-"

"I understand Bruce. You need to take care of him. I see it in your eyes." He lay a hand on Bruce's, "Believe me when I say, I'll stand by you no matter what you decide… and if Anyone can bring that man around it's you. Just don't let yourself get too focused on revenge… you've been down that path before, you know where it leads."

Bruce sighed, for he wanted nothing more than to rip The Joker to pieces… but that would do him no good. He had to focus on Jonathan. "But Alfred, you should have seen his face when he last saw me. I hurt him worse by abandoning him than by physically harming him…"

"I don't know what to tell you Bruce… You're being pulled into a direction which I cannot tell you is either right or wrong… Do what you feel is right, that's all the advice I can give," Alfred said in a somewhat grim manner.

Bruce nodded, sighing heavily. He couldn't yet proclaim he felt anything akin to Love for Jonathan… just this unyielding need to keep him, have him, protect him, and possess him. That the Joker had Touched Jonathan had Bruce seething with rage not unlike a rhino's fury. Only this rhino was on fucking roids!

"I'm going to bring him back… tonight when the security is lax," he said decidedly.

Alfred just nodded, not sure what all of this would lead to in the end, but he trusted Master Wayne to do the right thing. Despite how he'd been treating the Doctor, Bruce was a good man.

Bruce looked out the window with confidence. He would bring Jonathan back and try to fix him.

Meanwhile, Jonathan was staring up at the ceiling in his hospital bed, slowly coming to a different conclusion than Bruce had… He would never proclaim that he or Bruce had come to something near love… Bruce simply lusted for him, not him but his body… The Joker too, had found pleasure in dragging him further into turmoil…

He looked to the side at his heart-monitor with icy hatred. He would kill Bruce Wayne. The Scarecrow would have his revenge…..

************************************

Don't forget, rate, review or else! It's how I thrive!


	22. Conclusions and the crafty rescue

Disclaimer: I do not own the Batman series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Plz Rate and Review!

New Ch is complete, including prev. chapters' 'preview', skip prev ch's text but read the rest if u want lol

Previously:

"We're losing him!" shouted a doctor, and the frenzy went up again as Nurses ran for bags of the correct blood type, surgeons called for more sutures. Bruce could hardly contain his malice for the Joker who'd dared to touch HIS Jonathan… That man would pay….. but first things first… Jonathan…. He looked at the small male fighting for his life with deep sorrow, regret, and pain… His chest ached and he knew suddenly that Jonathan, if he survived, could not go back to that place….

Never again…. No. He had a plan.

'Just hold on Jonathan…. Please hold on….'

* * *

The paparazzi were finally forced to wait in the lobby around 8 am, and Bruce was released from the ER with an arm brace around 9 am. Throughout the day, Bruce sat in his study eyeing the TV to be kept up to date with Jonathan's condition.

Bruce's blood BOILED when another reporter stood in front of Jonathan's cell speaking with one of the guards.

"So how exactly DID Jonathan Crane end up with The Joker?" She asked.

"Ah… well… I'm not sur-"

"From what we know, Dr. Crane was in no condition to move on his own, so how or why would he be in the Joker's cell?"

"I don't kn-"

The camera abandoned the stunned guard to zoom in on the Joker's cell. The orderlies were escorting the clown out to get him cleaned and put in a different cell so they could investigate the room. Police were now stepping into the bloody room as the Joker cackled, blood all over his hands and pants. The camera went from his face to the room and the reporter gasped.

Jonathan's blood splattered the walls, one had a large stain, dripping down to the floor gruesomely. On the bed where the Joker slept were many puncture holes as if stabbed, blood spots all over, but worst was the dripping from the end of it where Jonathan had been tortured.

Bruce broke the teacup in his hand, growling viciously. Alfred sighed, taking the pieces from Bruce's hand, "Master Bruce…" he began, but Bruce held up a tired hand, his other still in the sling.

"Sorry…" Bruce said quietly, bending over to help. Alfred nodded, patting his arm.

"Bruce… I've never seen you react this way… What do you plan to do now?" He asked, very concerned for the young master he'd known since birth.

Bruce lifted weary eyes, "I… I can't take it anymore… I can't just-"

"I understand Bruce. You need to take care of him. I see it in your eyes." He lay a hand on Bruce's, "Believe me when I say, I'll stand by you no matter what you decide… and if Anyone can bring that man around it's you. Just don't let yourself get too focused on revenge… you've been down that path before, you know where it leads."

Bruce sighed, for he wanted nothing more than to rip The Joker to pieces… but that would do him no good. He had to focus on Jonathan. "But Alfred, you should have seen his face when he last saw me. I hurt him worse by abandoning him than by physically harming him…"

"I don't know what to tell you Bruce… You're being pulled into a direction which I cannot tell you is either right or wrong… Do what you feel is right, that's all the advice I can give," Alfred said in a somewhat grim manner.

Bruce nodded, sighing heavily. He couldn't yet proclaim he felt anything akin to Love for Jonathan… just this unyielding need to keep him, have him, protect him, and possess him. That the Joker had Touched Jonathan had Bruce seething with rage not unlike a rhino's fury. Only this rhino was on fucking roids!

"I'm going to bring him back… tonight when the security is lax," he said decidedly.

Alfred just nodded, not sure what all of this would lead to in the end, but he trusted Master Wayne to do the right thing. Despite how he'd been treating the Doctor, Bruce was a good man.

Bruce looked out the window with confidence. He would bring Jonathan back and try to fix him.

Meanwhile, Jonathan was staring up at the ceiling in his hospital bed, slowly coming to a different conclusion than Bruce had… He would never proclaim that he or Bruce had come to something near love… Bruce simply lusted for him, not him but his body… The Joker too, had found pleasure in dragging him further into turmoil…

He looked to the side at his heart-monitor with icy hatred. He would kill Bruce Wayne. The Scarecrow would have his revenge…..

* * *

The Scarecrow grinned, happy to finally be reawakened and with a mission to boot! Although, the poor condition Jonathan's body was currently under caused problems, he was still rather happy. He pushed Jonathan into the back of their mind, wrapping him in cold darkness, mentally stroking his cheek affectionately.

Jonathan stared blankly back through half-lidded eyes. The Doctor was traumatized beyond relief, stunned by the throbbing of his heart, the traitorous abandonment, and the torture he endured under the Joker. It was Scarecrow, who'd come to the conclusion that Bruce must die for hurting his little birdie. Yes, the gangly male had foolishly thought someone could actually care for him… even love him.

Hadn't The Scarecrow warned him? Hadn't he told him it was foolish to think such things? He'd laid it out rather simply for the genius: Bruce Wayne was The Batman, a pompous, rich prick with too much time on his hands and far too many morals. He was fully absorbed in the thought that he could right the world, starting with Gotham. However, Gotham wasn't likely to be saved, by people who shunned the very bringer of their salvation. Furthermore, the Batman dared to believe he could hold a candle to Jonathan. No, no, and no again.

He shut his eyes, then opened them again to fully take control of their body. He was the only one who could think clearly right now, and save them from further torment. He would Not go back to Arkham, he would Not go back to Wayne Manor. First things first, he needed to go collect his fear gas.

He turned his head again, once more glancing at the monitor. From what he gathered, his heart was stable. He then looked down, smirking. The imbecile doctors hadn't strapped him down to the bed. Oh how perrrrfect.

He slowly lifted the covers with a shaking, weak hand and tried to assess the damage. 'Boy little birdie, the Joker has done quite the number on us…. I think we owe him for this one….' He grinned, relishing in showing the Joker what they were Really made of.

Focus. He slowly started to sit up, noting that no one was currently in the room. However, he could see a shadow beneath the door, meaning someone was there outside it. He smirked, oh this would be too easy.

Quickly glancing to his side, he noted there was a tranquilizer to his right, as well as a bedpan that would work quite well to bash against someone's head. Perfect.

Snaking a hand over, he grabbed both, laying the pan under his pillow, and the tranquilizer under his side. He then lay back down and started to whimper and he pressed the call button at his side. A soft voice came over the intercom above him, "This is nurse Amilia, what is it you need?" she asked kindly.

"Please… it… hurts… help me…." He whimpered, not even needing to fake the moan of pain.

"Oh your morphine must be running out, I'll be right there." She beeped off and went to collect more morphine for him, then stood outside his door. After the guard nodded, she cracked the door open to peek in at him.

The handsome- no, pretty face of Jonathan Crane turned to her and she turned slightly pink. She came to his side, walking carefully as not to upset him or get too close. They'd all been warned he could be rather tricky. She checked his temperature, looking down at him as if worried. He looked so deathly ill, and her heart ached for anyone in suffering. Leaning over him, forgetting to keep her distance, she fastened the morphine packet to his IV. She didn't have the chance to cry out for help when he slipped the tranquilizer into her neck. She slowly slumped over him, making him groan in pain.

He worked quickly as his mauled body could, pulling out his IV's, but careful to leave the heart monitor on him for now, lest he draw all the doctors to him when it suddenly went flat. He pushed her off his body then slowly, painfully, moved his legs to the side and tested standing. Although it was an uneasy stand, wobbly at best, and his head felt as if it were swimming in a laundry-machine, he steadied himself.

Jonathan shuddered in his mind when he heard a soft 'drip – splat' on the floor. He looked down to see a drop of his own blood now on the floor. He sighed, his body in worse condition than he'd expected.

The Scarecrow decided the best they could do was to move quickly. First, he stripped his nurse of her clothes and removed his own patient's shirt. Dressing in her white dress, as well as her underwear since he had none from being stripped of his clothes, he lay his own blanket over her, having the decency enough not to embarrass her. He smiled, plucking up his straight jacket that was laying over a chair and tucked it under his arm like a blanket.

He checked himself in the bedside mirror, he put her cap on his head, then a coughing mask over his mouth, which he noted looked mangled. A huge tear on the top and bottom of his lips and the scratched in smile left him looking More like a real scarecrow than ever.

Glancing at the door then, he went back to the pillow with slow steps, picked up the bedpan, and made his way to the door. He then stood behind it, "Guard, could you please assist me? Crane need's to be held down," he said in an effeminate voice.

The idiot guard quickly opened the door and ambled in, then blinked at the empty bed and the woman on the floor. Jonathan lifted the bedpan and smashed it over the back of his neck. 'KATHUMP' he fell to the ground in a heavy heap.

"We're close dear birdie to freedom, just hang in there…." He whispered, then opened the door, and walked out confidently, forcing his strides to be normal, rather than a shuffle of pain. It hurt him, so badly his eyes welled up slightly, but this was for Jonathan and his own freedom and revenge. He must escape.

His strides weren't long however, but very short, so the walk to the elevator seemed an eternity. He also managed to keep his legs clenched, to help keep any blood from dripping to the floor. Once in the elevator, he was accompanied down to the main floor by five doctors and a janitor with a broom in hand.

He cringed when they bumped all together in the tight space. He breathed a short sigh of relief when they got to the main floor. He could see the lobby, and exit from where he stood. He would rather exit through the back, but several police officers were standing in the hall down that end, discussing a victim they'd just brought in from a robbery.

He turned and made his way towards the exit, glad his glasses hadn't been removed. Blundering around Gotham blind as a… Bat, was a poor idea.

Scarecrow rolled his eyes when a man in the lobby winked at him. God-damn disguise… although the tights DID show off Jonathan's sexy legs, if he did say so himself…

The reporters covering the Arkham-incident were camped out in the lobby, chatting with coffee, tea, pastries and hotdogs… Didn't they know it was rude? Besides, it was 4 pm for god's sake, go do something else while Jonathan 'recovers.' He chuckled to himself, glad they'd all miss their chance to make a good story off of him.

Unfortunately, the man who'd found him rather sexy in his nurse's outfit confronted him, shooting him a smile that said, "I THINK I'M GOD'S GIFT TO WOMEN, COME, LET US CELEBRATE IN MY ROOM OF PERPETUAL ENDULGANCE!"

What he actually said was, "Hey there Hunny, going out for a smoking break?" He offered 'her' a cig.

"Oh dear, don't you know smoking's bad for you?" Scarecrow purred.

"Mmm are you always a Good girl? Sometime's Bad is a nice change," he wiggled a brow suggestively.

Scarecrow groaned, oh brother, frickin' horny retard thinks he's a stud… He wanted to carve his belly and spew out his guts… wouldn't that be delicious- no, must escape first…

He sighed, "Sir, I'm already late, please go sit in the waiting room for whomever you're here for."

"Oh, well, she's not likely to come around today if you know what I mean…" He said.

Oh indeed, she must be his girlfriend or wife, probably having a baby,… what a fucktard…

"Well that's unfortunate. Enjoy your wait alone," he said firmly and turned to make his way through the throng of reporters. He made it perhaps four steps before the man grabbed his arm, "Hey, no one walks away from Arnie Capolli," he growled threateningly.

Crane gasped as he was yanked back. Several heads turned his way, but mostly the two were ignored. Thank god for not-so-concerned audience. Domestic violence was soooooooooooo not important to reporters. He seethed in fury, and looked back up at the man, "release me or you'll regret it…" he whispered.

The man cocked his head and smirked devilishly, "No, I think You'll be the one regretting it, in the back seat of my Ferrari."

Scarecrow hissed, shoving him away and turning to get out. However, Arnie wouldn't be deterred and jerked him back, gripping his wrist. Meanwhile, the jerking of his body was sending Scarecrow tumbling through Jonathan's pain, his legs quivered and several large drops of blood fell to the floor. He also ripped open the stitches on the stab wound to his waist, causing it to seep through the white dress and slowly decend, turning much of the dress red as the rest of his wounds opened. The Scarecrow's eyes turned murderous, leaking such hatred and malice that the man gasped and thrust 'her' away and Jonathan's body fell to the floor, eliciting a cry of pain.

At first, the man was apprehended by the two police officers, "She's crazy!" he yelled while they struggled to calm him. One of the reporters bent down to help Jonathan up, calling for help, "She's been stabbed!" she cried out.

Scarecrow's eyes widened when she pulled his mask down and the woman screamed, "AAAAH!!! It's… it's… It's-"

"Scarecrow?" He offered, his face contorting into such an cold glare that she shrieked and fainted.

Then Every head in the lobby turned to him in shock.

Damn his face must really look devilish…

Jonathan whimpered in the back of his mind, the pain mounting as he took the full blows of it to allow Scarecrow to get them to safety.

The place was in an uproar in a moment, some screaming, running,… however the reporters circled sticking microphones and camera's in his face while the police stalked towards him, one calling for backup from the police car's outside.

Scarecrow hissed as his face was instantly all over the news. Men in bars laughed as they saw the convict dressed so enticingly in a woman's nurse outfit, the skirt riding up his thighs as he backed away. However, all laughter stopped when Arnie rushed at him in anger for making him put the moves on a man, and Scarecrow whipped out a scalpel from nowhere, swirled it in his hand and jammed it through Arnie's hand, slicing it down and out. Blood splattered the floor as Arnie screamed.

Scarecrow lifted the small weapon threateningly as policemen jumped towards him. He slashed, and apologized to Jonathan as he stepped on one cop's knee and jumped, flipping backwards, bracing himself for a painful landing and landing a kick to another cop's head. The reporters scrambled back to make way for the 20 police officers rushing in, guns drawn.

Scarecrow ducked down, rolling to the side and flung himself at the nearest officer, breaking his arm with a surprisingly strong grip. Pulling the gun from his hands, Scarecrow turned it towards the next officer, blasting a bullet into his leg. The police had trouble getting a clear shot of him, afraid to hit one of the nurses, doctors, patients, and reporters.

The skinny male hissed, bleeding profusely now as he flipped again behind them, stabbing another in the knee, then made for the doors. Falling through the revolving doors, he stumbled, looking up to see 20 more policemen all aiming their guns at him. When he was grasped from behind by strong arms and kicked behind his knee, he fell to the ground, shrieking in pain from the angle and position he was in.

Jonathan came wailing back to the surface, shaking his whole body side to side as he was forced down and thrust into his straightjacket, a gun to his head. "RAaaaaaaah!!!! AAAAhhhh!!!!" he shrieked, struggling, then he started to laugh and sob. This WHOLE Damn world was against him… No one would help him; not Arkham, not the hospital, not the police, not a lawer or the courts, not Joker, and Not Bruce Wayne…

It was something he thought he'd come to terms with long ago: He was alone in this world. His family had never been there for him either…. Nor his teachers…. This world deserved to crumble at his feet in fear, deep primal fear. His eyes shook as if with electricity. He struggled anew, managing to turn and kick the man off of him. He leaned over, taking the man down as he bit his neck. A single shot rang out as Commissioner Gordon ran up the steps and shot Jonathan in the arm to distract him from his victim.

Jonathan fell back, Scarecrow laughing and calling out his name for all to hear, "Scarecrow!" His mouth was dripping in his own and the cop's blood. Both were rushed back inside to be tended to, Jonathan quickly sedated. Scarecrow lay a hand on Jonathan's head, 'I failed you…' he whispered, before sinking into the same darkness as Jonathan.

* * *

Bruce couldn't believe his eyes… Crane had tried to escape in such a poor condition, and the results left him worse than before, as well as having injured many others in the process…

"That stupid, stupid… grah you idiot!" he growled, throwing his remote across the room. He could not believe that man had tried to escape… how stupid was he!? Did he really think he'd be able to, with so many policemen around? And with such horrific injuries!?

He started to pace back and forth in his study. Rescuing the psycho would be even more difficult now that everyone's guard was up. Not that the fool knew Bruce was coming…

He sighed to calm himself. Jonathan, or Scarecrow, had probably thought that was his only chance for freedom, despite the pain and condition he was in.

He looked at the news report again as they replayed the Scarecrow's blazing ice blue eyes. He hadn't Killed anyone, and Bruce had yet to figure out why it was he hadn't aimed for anything particularly fatal…

Why? Why hold back when you were trying to get free? Yes he wasn't known for being physically dangerous, but he damn well could be… so why?

He sat down, and pulled out the Scar- Jonathan's journal, tapping it on his desk, debating for the hundredth time whether or not to read it. For some reason, he just couldn't bring himself to open the book, no matter how much he might learn. And for the hundredth time, he put the book back away, rubbing his temples.

He then growled, pulling it out and opening it to a random page, reading:

* * *

_*F 15,_

_**We finally did it little birdie, finally to that monster… Did I not tell you? I promised, he won't touch you, won't hit or fuck you little one, if only you give in to me. And I HAVE delivered. You are free little baby crane, free from them. Let all their bones rot together in this tiny grey house under the willows, sleep well knowing they have perished at my hands..._

_*What have we done!? No no no oh god the blood please why?_

_**Oh dear baby bird, you know why…. YOU picked up the spoons my love, you wanted to dig out his eyes too…_

_*I did not – oh why we have nothing now! Nothing! I'm gonna get in such trouble!_

_**No you won't darling, NO ONE gives a damn about your father, or you for that matter. No one cares if we have sent that sodomite to Hades. I hope he enjoys his time there my sweet sweet sweet Jonathan._

_*B… but…._

_**And no one gives a flying-bat-fuck if your mother has left this world in a little peach jar, and EVERYONE will be happier in a world without that fondling Boris. Teachers should keep their hands to themselves little one, should they not?_

_*But I…_

_**My dear little flightless one… One day maybe a bat will fly fly fly down from the rafters and kiss you, till then, you will love me as I love you, and we will take care of one another. Put one foot in front of the next, step outside, and never turn back….._

_*Okay…. Okay…… What…. What do I call you? I've, known you were here but… what are you? Are you an angel? Are you going to leave me too?_

_**No Jonathan, I am no angel… but will be here for you, when no one else cares. No one will harm you so long as you listen to me… I am you; the you that you can't be; the you that's been beaten, cursed, and fucked out of you. My dearest, I AM SCARECROW…._

* * *

Bruce stared then slowly shut the book, eyes wide. It was far too much… far far far too much… for any one person to hold in… How could Jonathan hold it in? Oh right…

But what did this one, two-sided conversation hold within it?... It would seem, whatever day this was, he supposed, February 15th of some year, that Jonathan and his alter-ego had, murdered Jonathan's family. And by the looks of it they had deserved whatever it was they'd gotten, although the allusion to spoons… what the hell could he have done with spoons?

Bruce made a mental note to never allow His Jonathan to hold spoons…

Back to the journal, he re-read that entry and blinked. He could conclude that, up until this point, Jonathan had not understood who or what Scarecrow was… this must have meant that it was early in Jonathan's life.

He hoped that at least now, he might be able to understand who Jonathan was… When he'd sprayed Jonathan with his own fear gas, he'd thought he was giving him a dose of his own medicine. However, Jonathan had just been giving others a dose of other people's medicine,… only concentrated. It was wrong, a horrid way to think, but, the only way one such as Jonathan could think after what he'd endured.

Finally closing the large journal and slipping it away, he stood. He Would bring Jonathan back… maybe he could be the bat in the rafters… it was worth a shot. The hardest part would not be winning Jonathan over, but winning over Scarecrow's trust, which, was likely to be a difficult challenge. Scarecrow was far more likely to come to the wrong conclusion than not.

He stood and sighed, for he was going to need a crafty way of getting Jonathan out…

* * *

Bruce sighed… he felt like a god-damned criminal, working out a complicated break-out scheme… but if being Batman had any perks, it was learning how to think like a criminal, and having the means to any equipment he needed….

Dressed in a janitor's suit, he walked in, disguised rather well as an old man with a crooked back. He pushed along a cart used to change the sheets in bedrooms. Wheeling the cart slowly to Jonathan's room, he huffed at the guards, "cleaning time, out out out yah buncha dunderheads."

The guards chuckled, moving out, "Don't let that little fucker bite yah old man, we'll give you 10 minutes to get your business done before we come back in."

He nodded, waving a hand, "yeah yeah yeah, git ur bums out," he said, wheeling the cart in, limping on his left leg. His arm still hurt, but thank god the injury he'd self inflicted hadn't been too bad.

The moment the door shut, he got busy, moving to Crane's side, noting he was asleep. There was a muzzle put over his mouth to prevent any further biting… Talk about Hannibal Lecter-fied.

He sighed, stroking his cheek before getting to work. He pulled out a small cellphone-like device, setting it beside Jonathan's chest and taking hold of his heart-rate machine's hookup to him. Quickly, he unclipped the monitor and switched it to the device.

After that, he began to unhook Jonathan's IV's. He then plucked up his light frame and gently lay him down in the cart. Stripping the bedsheets, he threw them over the male, then redid the sheets, placing a real scarecrow in the bed, having made sure it looked like jonathan's hair on top, then pulled the blanket back over the make-shift Jonathan. He then walked with Jonathan in the cart back over to the door and rapped on it.

"Yeh can git yur rears back in here," he grunted, hobbling back out, "all's clean."

They took a look into the room, and seeing nothing out of the ordinary, let him walk on down the hall. Bruce smiled once he made it downstairs to the laundry room. Opening the door, he dumped the 'contents' of his cart into the trunk of a Buick. He drove away from the Hospital calmly, almost unable to believe he'd actually pulled off the rescue…

He pulled over in an alley and went to the trunk, opening it up and pulling out his precious cargo… Holding him to his chest a moment, he looked at the soft face of Jonathan Crane, then set him in the backseat and drove them both home…

* * *

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	23. False Hope

Disclaimer: I do not own the Batman series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Also, thank you everyone on AFF for your reviews! It was like a massive review fest the other day and it made me so so so happy!!!! . thank you!

* * *

  
Previously:

He pulled over in an alley and went to the trunk, opening it up and pulling out his precious cargo… Holding him to his chest a moment, he looked at the soft face of Jonathan Crane, then set him in the backseat and drove them both home…

* * *

A long week's worth of treatments by both Bruce and Fox proved worth-while in healing the doctor, who had yet to rise from an exhausted deep sleep. And despite wanting to know when he did wake, Bruce had a lifestyle and façade to uphold. Therefore, he was forced to continue his business meetings, holding parties at hotels, and having dates with women.

Tonight, Bruce was on a date with a model from Coco Chanel. Natalie was a beautiful woman, with dark black-brown hair, curly and down to her waist. Her legs were long with all the right curves, going all the way up to a short, sexy red number that showed off her thighs and breasts, which were small but inviting. Her skin was a soft peach, silky to the touch.

In all respects, she almost looked like a female version of a certain someone Bruce knew…

After dinner, which had passed with intimate glances and suggestive touches, Bruce had been unable to resist inviting her home. Part of his ruse as Playboy of Gotham was being involved in numerous one night stands.

Being half drunk had helped move things along quite smoothly; as the two managed to slowly walk up the stairs towards Bruce's room. Clothes were quickly strewn onto the floor as passionate kisses filled the air with panting breaths.

* * *

Meanwhile, Jonathan's eyes slowly opened, trying to clear out the blurry haze his mind seemed ever to swim in recently. Fortunately, someone had graced him with leaving his glasses upon his face, giving him at least the comfort of vision. The first thing he noticed was a lack of either the soft padded walls of his Arkham cell or the white sterile walls of the Emergency room. But… why?

He groaned, trying to sit up, but found himself strapped firmly to a hard medical bed. He grimaced, then turned his head to the right and discovered exactly where he was… The Batcave.

He gave out an annoyed growl, seeing the Tumbler not far away. How DARE that man bring him here?? What, did he see his failed escape attempt and think it was better to treat him himself before dumping him back at Arkham? Did he plan to damn him yet again?

One thing he was sure of… he would Not go back there. He would not go back to Arkham to be subjected to the likes of The Joker again. Scarecrow promised to kill the man who'd led him to believe someone cared for him…

Jonathan closed his eyes after recalling the pain of being abandoned. Even now, he had the slightest hope that Bruce had 'rescued' him from the hospital and Arkham… but it was a false hope, one which the Scarecrow immediately told him was far beyond foolish.

The Batman, and Bruce for that matter, didn't give a damn about Jonathan. Not about his personality, about his feelings, about either of them… Perhaps the only thing he cared about was his body, and the ability to dominate someone helpless to resist, just like everyone else.

Scarecrow suggested he stop believing in the impossible, and divert his attentions to finding a way out of this hellhole. Jonathan nodded, turning his head to the other side to look for something he could use for escape. However, his eyes were suddenly glued to the many security monitors, one screen in particular.

"Jonathan… Jonathan don't…. Jonathan you already knew!" Scarecrow whispered, "Jonathan..?"

Jonathan didn't answer him, staring with pained, leaking eyes at the screen that showed Bruce's bedroom….

Bruce was pounding into a naked goddess, holding the woman to his chest. Her legs were spread, knees pulled up as he slammed his long shaft into her. Bruce's pace was strong and quick, but careful to bring her pleasure as he slid within her.

Bruce pulled out of her quickly, and then began to push at her second entrance, causing her to gasp. However, she looked even more aroused than before, obviously inviting him to continue. He quickly thrust in, and by the look on her face, she was greatly enjoying this experience with Gotham's most eligible bachelor.

She whispered in his ear and his face broke out into a delighted grin, as he lay back and let her ride him to completion. When Bruce's face lit up in pure ecstasy, Jonathan's lips parted in a silent cry as he saw Bruce find that white place of utter pleasure with some woman… That was it...

Scarecrow was… as always, right…

There was nothing here for him. There never had been. There never would be. No hope, no sanctuary, and definitely no love.

Scarecrow sighed, stroking Jonathan's face gently in his mind, "As I've told you… despite wishing I were wrong… No one will ever love you… not like me." He whispered, pulling the shaking boy into his arms. "I love you… I care about you."

"I know!" he cried out, a sob of pain escaping his lips, "I know!" He stared at the screen anyways, watching the monster wrap his arms around her… "But…. Wh… why? Why can no one love us? Me? Wh…"

"Because, you're different. Because no one else can hold a candle to your intelligence. Because it is an unloving, false, cruel world. We are shunned because you were never given the chance to be what the world wanted you to be. That's their fault, but they want to punish you for it. I won't let them. They robbed you of innocence and dreams. I'll rob them of their lives in return."

"But… when he… touched us it…."

"He used you… I'm sorry your heart gave in to his ruse my dearest," whispered the Scarecrow.

"S-s-scarecrow… it hurts..."

"I know my sweet… I know…"

"I thought… he cared… at least a bit. Maybe, people who've suffered… could be…"

"No, you have no friends here… He is the Batman. He fights for this so called justice. We both know Justice is false. It's a word used to shadow over the fact that truth and fiction are nothing but fabrications of a doomed race.

"What should it matter if it's true that a man shot someone, if that someone shot had broken into the other's house? Or raped his daughter? Who should care if a mother steals a TV so she can sell it for food for her children, hm? That is society. And why is it that a priest can damn an innocent boy for being nothing but what his 'creator' made him to be? That is religion. Why do people believe in God? Hm? To justify their own insecurities!

"But those beliefs give them power over others, just as it empowered others over you Jonathan. 'One of them,' one of the damned, a sodomite-to-be, a sinner, a faggot, dirty heathen… and you were but a child when they told you this, smote you down to make themselves feel mighty. The situation has not changed.

Look at him… Look at Him Jonathan. Fucking a woman, like he does so frequently as to keep up his appearances as Gotham's Playboy Prince. You were nothing to him but an experiment. Something new, refreshing, but unnecessary. He is straight or bi, it matters not. You were a hole for his pole Jonathan, I know it hurts you dearly, but if you shut these feelings out now, it will save us all the more hurt," Scarecrow sighed, "I'm sorry my lovely flightless bird,… but that is the sad reality. Your heart aches for no purpose."

"He…" began Jonathan.

"Feels," whispered the darker half.

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."

"For us…?"

"For Us."

Jonathan apologized to the Scarecrow for being a fool, before he began to cry like one who'd lost a lover. Only he'd lost it long, long ago, and had no right to hope for it now. His cries resounded through the Batcave… the only witnesses to his tears were the winged creatures, one scarecrow, and one furious butler.

* * *

Alfred, who'd come down to check on the doctor, had happened upon the two-sided conversation coming from the singular Jonathan Crane. Stepping back into the shadows, he'd listened to the conversation until the male was reduced to tears. He also saw the monitor that had sparked the conversation; Bruce was currently kissing his 'guest' as they got up to get cleaned up, for she had to leave tonight.

Alfred A) couldn't believe he had gone as far as to have sex tonight, when he had other things that needed attending, B) had left the damn security cameras in his room on, and C) had (unknowingly) caused the doctor to apparently have some feelings for Bruce. He sighed, for the Young Master knew nothing about mental patients such as Crane, their likelihood of developing dependencies and inability to understand certain behaviors.

He slowly walked over to the criminal who wasn't even crying like an adult, but like a child, like Bruce used to when he was young. Alfred stood in front of the monitor and shook his head, switching it off, and then looking at the suffering young man.

"Doctor Crane?" he asked, resting a hand on his shoulder. He was given no sign that the doctor even knew he was there, too absorbed in his anguish. He shook his head and turned to go give Bruce a piece of his mind.

* * *

Bruce escorted the model down to the main foyer, thanking her for a splendid night. He smiled as she leaned in to kiss him suggesting they do this again sometime. Giving her a winning smile, he agreed, and then led her down to her escort. Waving goodbye, Bruce gave a happy sigh; glad he was apparently still able to get it on with a woman. He'd worried that sex with Jonathan might result in an inability to enjoy women again.

He turned to reenter the mansion and take a well deserved shower when he saw the silhouette of Alfred standing in the door, arms crossed in front of him. Bruce walked up to him, "what's up Alfred?" he asked, stepping inside and shutting the doors.

"What's up? More like WHO's up. Your OTHER guest has awoken," he said slowly.

"He is?! When? Does he seem, with it? Or is he out of it?" He asked, starting to walk towards his study so he could go to the cave.

"Bruce, I don't suggest you go down there without knowing a few, important facts," Alfred stated, walking just behind him.

Bruce paused in his study and sat on his desk, "What do I need to know?"

"That you've mad a serious mistake."

"Excuse me?" he blinked, setting down the phone he'd been tinkering with to study his trusted companion's grave face.

"You brought him back, but for what purpose? To keep him from escaping? Keep him from the Joker? From harm? Or to help him? Why is he here?"

"I, don't know… I just can't… I can't-"

"Well you best find out, because you've already damaged him. For how do you think someone like Doctor Crane would react, to being repeatedly…?" He fished for an appropriate word for 'raped.'

Bruce looked down a moment, having the decency to look ashamed.

"You know next to nothing about someone with mental … conditions like the Doctor. And I fear you've irreparably damaged his psyche further. I was checking on him when I heard his voice… but it was as if he were two people, talking back and forth to himself…" He sighed, rubbing his temple. "You left the camera feed on down there… and everything that transpired between yourself and your female guest was seen by him."

Bruce's eyes widened for a moment, then brushed it off. So what? So the criminal saw him get it on with a hot woman, what should he care? He wasn't embarrassed. "I don't care; I've nothing to be embarrassed of."

"Not embarrassed of Bruce. From what I heard, part of him had depended upon you. You gave him a sliver of hope that you cared about him. I think you giving him to Arkham, and his being so injured, and now seeing you with a woman has dashed any hopes he had. So what do you plan to do about it?"

"Hopes that I cared? Cared how? I care enough to keep him from Arkham and The Joker. That's how I care, what more could he want?" he frowned.

"Bruce, I suggest then, that you see for yourself what more he could want. But tread lightly. You haven't begun to attempt to understand what makes up the Doctor."

Bruce huffed, for it was true. Since bringing him here the first time, he had yet to attempt to figure out what made Crane act the way he did, what turned him towards evil, and what had caused the small scars over his body.

Keeping in mind that he needed to quit getting angry at Crane and hitting him for the way he was. He had to become level-headed, and think clearly. Just because he'd saved Crane didn't mean the male would feel happy about it. And just because Bruce had him back, didn't mean he could go back to having his way with him either.

As much as he may want to…

* * *

Jonathan lay staring at the now blank screen, tearstains marking his cheeks, and making the pillow beneath his head wet. His body hurt so badly, but not as much as his heart. He'd long ago tossed aside any ideas of being loved. Emotions were useless, love was unnecessary and deceitful, a heart only served to beat, not to feel. Besides, emotions didn't really come from the heart.

Scarecrow only had feelings for Jonathan, both because without him, he wouldn't exist, they were part of one another, but also that the pair completed each other, they understood each other, and he wanted to protect the small child he'd grown with into adulthood.

He LOVED Jonathan with every fiber of his being. He found his hopes irksome, his weaknesses forgivable, his mind fascinating and delightful, and his appearance nothing short of beautiful… He was Jonathan's protector, devout and incorruptible.

When Jonathan's icy cold heart had suddenly thawed around the edges, he'd grown angry, and told Jonathan the cold, hard truth a bit harsher than intended. But he couldn't stand someone coming into their lives, pretending to care and toying with Jonathan.

When Bruce's figure stepped before him, and a hand reached out with a cloth to clean Jonathan's face, it was only natural that Scarecrow whip his head to the other side hissing dangerously at him.

"Don't be like that right now… I brought you back from that place… so the Joker can't hurt you again…" Bruce said, trying to reach over to wipe his face again.

"Don't touch him!" Growled the Scarecrow.

"Oh, so it's you I'm talking to huh?" Bruce frowned, crossing his arms.

"Release me, this degradation has gone far enough," he turned his head back towards Bruce, eyes alight with vibrant, electric blue.

"The Joker did this to you you know…" he frowned, "not me."

"Oh Please, you're only lucky you never completely lost control. You think because Jonathan wasn't given any surface scars from you that you're blameless?" He shook his head, then lowered his eyelids acidly, "I can barely find the will to speak, strapped to a table…"

"It's for your safety, trying to escape in Your condition," he coughed, "would be foolish.

"Foolish as it may have been, if I had succeeded, Jonathan would be far better off."

"How? Where would you have gone? A body broken and bleeding trying to navigate Gotham? You're an idiot for thinking you could."

Eyes leveled on Bruce, "anything is better than Arkham, but this place… this place is just as bad… You understand nothing, just as the psychiatrists understand nothing. It's your fault Jonathan was taken there, where they can't even come up with a proper diagnosis, feed him the wrong pills, beat him because they can… and you, you think you're some savior. Wrong."

"I don't claim to be a savior, but I will try to help best I can…" Bruce said, sitting down on a stool. "Now… Alfred told me… that something on the monitors upset Jonathan…"

Scarecrow started to giggle, "mmm nothing a Pampered Playboy could understand."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Bruce cocked a brow.

Scarecrow gave a cocky smile, "c'mere," he whispered.

Bruce frowned, coming over to him, "closer," the man said.

Bruce hesitated, "if you bite me, I won't hesitate to knock you out for three days."

"Oh Bruce, I would Neeeever," he smiled delightfully.

Bruce leaned closer, and was suddenly met with those enchanting lips upon his own. His gasp of shock allowed the male to push his tongue into his mouth, moving it with far more expertise than Jonathan could. Bruce pulled back from him with surprise written all over his face. Scarecrow simply licked his lips and smirked.

"One last kiss before I kill you," he smiled devilishly.

Bruce growled, grabbing his chin, "Your threats are empty."

"Oh no Bruce. See, I plan to escape, it's inevitable. But before, I'd planned to leave you alone when I escaped. Now, now I'll kill you for what you've done to him."

"And what have I done that you'll kill me for?" he asked skeptically.

"Giving him false hope."

"False hope? Hope of what?"

"Love," he said simply, eyes remaining set upon him darkly, "You made him think you might care. Your late night romp with Miss Model finally proved to him you don't, not in the way he thought."

"Wh… I SAID I'm not gay! Why the hell would I car-LOVE a criminal like him huh? You've lit me on fire before!" he threw his arms up. "You've sprayed me with that gas and hurt people I care for."

"Yeah well we didn't kill her, that fell on Joker from what I hear. And besides, you sprayed us too, doing irreparable damage. What's more, you took him from the new life he was trying to live, beat him, abused him, raped him… You think you're clean? You did nothing but bring back the worst of our memories to have them haunt us once more. And all your kisses, your touches… they made him believe that, despite the pain, maybe, just maybe you would be able to help him, just by listening, understanding… But you're incapable of understanding.

"And dropping him at Arkham, abandoning him just when he'd given you some semblance of trust…

"Do you remember? Do you? Do you remember us? No of course you don't… We trusted you long ago too… You betrayed us then, as you have now."

"Scarecrow, what in the hell are you talking about?" He said, head reeling.

"What, you don't recall us? I thought not," he heaved a sigh, "He liked you then too… you seemed like a nice boy. A bit stuck up, snotty, but curious, nice…. Your parents were kind too-"

"What? No, I never met you before I became the Batman, and not before they died, so shut up, I won't fall for your bullshit Scarecrow!" He growled in his Batman voice.

"Ah, intimidation. You know, you were always good at that…" his eyes fluttered, "I'm tired… Jonathan's asleep… he won't remember our little chat, so don't bug him about it when he wakes…" His eyes fluttered again, "You should get an X-Ray of our chest, it hurts," he whispered, before his eyes drooped. He indeed looked very tired. "I hope you enjoyed your sex with the female. You won't be getting Jonathan's body again; I can assure you of that." Those were his last words before he fell asleep.

Bruce sat down, grimacing at the man. What had he been talking about? He did not know him before… right? He sighed, pressing his fingers to his aching temple.

"False hope huh?" he wondered, looking at the silent, sleeping male. "Love? Caring… I just don't know…." He said, stroking the doctor's bangs back. "Sleep well."

* * *

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	24. XRays and Memories

Disclaimer: I do not own the Batman series or any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Plz Rate and Review!

Thanks to everyone who gave me nice long comments and constructive criticism. You make my story much better by participating in the creative process. Thank you!

* * *

Previously:

"What, you don't recall us? I thought not," he heaved a sigh, "He liked you then too… you seemed like a nice boy. A bit stuck up, snotty, but curious, nice…. Your parents were kind too-"

"What? No, I never met you before I became the Batman, and not before they died, so shut up, I won't fall for your bullshit Scarecrow!" He growled in his Batman voice.

"Ah, intimidation. You know, you were always good at that…" his eyes fluttered, "I'm tired… Jonathan's asleep… he won't remember our little chat, so don't bug him about it when he wakes…" His eyes fluttered again, "You should get an X-Ray of our chest, it hurts," he whispered, before his eyes drooped. He indeed looked very tired. "I hope you enjoyed your sex with the female. You won't be getting Jonathan's body again; I can assure you of that." Those were his last words before he fell asleep.

Bruce sat down, grimacing at the man. What had he been talking about? He did not know him before… right? He sighed, pressing his fingers to his aching temple.

"False hope huh?" he wondered, looking at the silent, sleeping male. "Love? Caring… I just don't know…." He said, stroking the doctor's bangs back. "Sleep well."

* * *

Bruce took his advice, calling for Fox to make another visit. Alfred, being the brilliantly helpful man he was, had had the foresight to have a room in Wayne Manor dedicated to hospital supplies; it had an MRI/CAT scanner, x-ray table, and medical supplies galore. Fox and Bruce first gave Crane a thorough x-ray to determine where the pain in his chest may be, and if there was any more damage than originally determined.

Although he was no doctor himself, Fox had trained in his youth as an EMT; Alfred, being the butler of a famed doctor, knew a thing or two; and Bruce had to know enough to treat his injuries himself as opposed to going to the hospital.

Putting up the full-body x-ray alongside enlarged images of his arms and skull, Fox began his assessment. What Fox uncovered was something surprising.

First, he showed Bruce and Alfred the man's ribcage and pointed to a small mark on the right side. "This is just a hairline fracture, but, enough to cause pain. If we simply wrap him up and make sure he has limited movement, he'll be just fine."

Bruce nodded, "That's reassuring…- I mean, that there's nothing too serious.." he covered his relief smoothly.

"Hn, Indeed Bruce," he smiled. Little slipped by Lucius Fox unnoticed. "However, I thought these might interest you…" He said standing and using a laser pointer to circle several areas around Jonathan's arms, legs, and head.

"…" He looked but didn't really see what it was that was so catching.

Alfred frowned, "That is concerning, even for someone such as Doctor Crane…"

"Yes, even in his line of work, this is very unlikely, and look here, in the pelvic region too," Lucius circled several areas.

"Will someone please clue me in to what we're talking about?" Bruce said, none too patiently.

The two older, far wiser men glanced at Bruce, then each other.

"Remember when you broke your arm after falling off your bike when you were about 10?" Alfred asked.

"Yeah, what of it?"

"Well, if we took an X-Ray of that area today, there would be a slight discolored mark on the image where your bone fractured. Very small, but noticeable if you're trained a bit," Lucius answered. "Like this," he pointed to a discolored mark on Jonathan's right forearm.

"… oh, I see it. Like right here?" he pointed to a spot a little further down.

"Yes, and here. And here… and there…" He started to get his point across as he traveled down just that arm.

"But… he doesn't do physical … work. And even I've not busted my arm that much," Bruce frowned.

"Yes, but what makes these more… alarming is that these here are long-bone injuries, and that they're indicative of early injuries."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning our Doctor here is, by far, the worst case of 'battered child syndrome' I've ever seen or heard of," Fox said.

"Battered…. child? What, like child abuse?" He said, growing angry.

"Yes. It's just a medical term that can mean all kinds of things. Physical, educational, emotional, mental, and sexual abuse are all listed beneath it, but the one common factor is that it's done to a young child."

Lucius paused to look over the body, placed transparencies over the x-rays, and then used a dry-erase marker to begin circling the evidence of abuse he saw from head to foot.

"Here, along the skull, there are several fractures, on his jaw too." Fox traced a line down that traveled down his jaw and the tooth Bruce recognized as the one chipped tooth. "See these? This type of mark shows force, pressure and stretching of the jaw. And down here," he circled his pelvic bone and thighbones' marks, "I hate to say this, but I think he was… frequently physically and sexually abused as a child."

Bruce had to sit down. As a CHILD? THE Jonathan Crane, master of fear, was… He couldn't think it… He couldn't believe it to be true. Not this crazy, bi-polar freak from the Narrows… He looked at the images again, slowly.

"These finger fractures and wrist fractures are indicative of being roughly handled, forced around, or shaken. They're more like typical abuse, but those others are not," Lucius said, then sighed, as he felt sympathy for the unfortunate criminal. Who wouldn't come out badly if you dealt with that?

"He's incredibly lucky to have not suffered any deformity or even death from it… cases like this are rare, because the children are unable to psychologically or physically recover," he continued.

"Maybe that's why he has a second personality, Master Wayne?" offered Alfred.

"… yeah," Bruce said quietly, "You know… I read a passage of his journal… It… it sounded to me, as though his father… was the one to abuse him, like that," he gulped, as he'd done the same thing to Jonathan,… but dammit he wasn't a CHILD! "How can someone DO that to a little child?"

"I think, being Batman, has showed you just how some people are…" Alfred sighed.

He nodded, glancing over at the sleeping captive. "No wonder his grip is so weak…"

"Hm? You mean his hands are very weak?" Fox asked, looking at the hand images.

"Yeah, usually, and when he does grip strongly, his face looks pained."

Lucius nodded, "He probably has suffered some permanent damage there."

Bruce closed his eyes a moment, then breathed out, "Are we ready to scan his brain?" he asked. They planned to look at the findings of a brain scan to determine how they might help the man.

"Yes," Lucius agreed, turning off the x-ray screen.

* * *

**Dream Sequence/Flash Back ~

* * *

"Father?" An anxious sounding voice called, "Father?"

"Yes, what is it son?" asked the young man currently walking beside his wife through the thin layer of slushy snow.

"There's something funny looking in the water Father," he pointed down the hill.

The creek was half frozen, half thawed, water violently churning through its course. Chunks of ice haphazardly broke off, racing down the water, their finish line unknown. Upon the opposite bank, resting on a similar chunk of ice, just as likely to break and enter the race down the water, laid a strange black form.

"That's… strange," the man said, letting go of his wife's hand. He strained his eyes to see against the painfully bright glare of the snow on the ground. His eyes suddenly widened, "Martha, go get blankets and run hot water, immediately!" he shouted, now running.

"Thomas, wha-"

"GO!" he yelled back, fear written all over his kind face. The boy ran after his father, wondering what it was in the water.

His father dived into the frigid rapids of the large creek, swimming best he could towards the figure that looked more like… a boy!

The man pulled the body to his chest and swam towards the other side, a chunk of ice scraping his face harshly before he met the land once more and pulled himself and the child onto the bank. First, checking for a pulse somewhere in that blue body, he gasped to feel the soft thumping of a heart. Picking the child up in his arms, the Father and son staggered up the steep slope towards Wayne Manor.

Startling grey-blue eyes opened slowly, and the first thing he saw, was a blur. Why was his world blurry? He'd never had trouble seeing in his life. He grew scared, believing maybe he was underwater still, so he did what anyone would do if they were drowning. He began to flail his arms, trying to part the waters and reach air.

"What are you doing?" asked a half amused and half scared voice to his right.

He didn't seem to hear the boy, gasping as if he couldn't breathe.

"You're not in the water anymore," said the bemused voice.

He kept trying to break the surface desperately.

"How am I talking to you if you're in the water?"

"....."

Hands slowly started to slow, looking at the other with an expression that asked, 'I… I'm not drowning?'

"That's what I've been trying to tell you."

His face suddenly looked terrified, afraid he had died.

"No! You're not dead," he smiled, then walked closer and held out a glass, "here," he said, putting it in the boy's hands and directing the straw to his lips.

The boy didn't open his mouth, or seem to know what to do.

"Suck on it stupid," chuckled the bratty one.

The boy's eyes widened fearfully at the words, which confused the other boy, "It's just a straw, you drink from it. Do you like Orange Juice?"

He seemed very hesitant, holding the glass as if it were radioactive.

"Try it."

A small sip later had the child sucking hard on the straw to down as much of the Orange Juice as possible, for fear it would vanish if he didn't.

"Woah slow down!" The other laughed, "Drink it slow… Hey… I'm Bruce Wayne, by the way, what's your name?"

"..."

The child hesitated once more, opening his mouth as if to speak, but nothing came out. He didn't seem to be able to. Maybe out of his fear, his trauma or the situation he found himself in.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, even if you scared us half to death. What were you doing in the creek in December?"

He didn't answer, just drank the juice until it made the dry, gargled sound of an empty glass. He looked sad when it was gone, and for the first time, turned his eyes onto the boy known as Bruce. He began to hyperventilate when even Bruce's face was nothing but a peachy blur. He started to flail, rubbing at his eyes and scratching his face.

Bruce jumped back a bit and then ran to go find his father who was sitting by the fire, drinking some coffee.

"Father! He's awake! He's totally freaking out!" Bruce alerted his father quickly to the state of the doctor's patient.

Thomas quickly got up and rushed into the guest room where Jonathan was currently throwing a panic attack. He'd suffered through many terrors, but to be unable to see the terrors coming… that would be far worse. He was just a child, and to be stuck in a wishy-washy world that apparently would like you better if you were dead, was not something he could stand.

Thomas placed a hand on Jonathan's cheek, "Shhhh… what's your name son?" he asked.

He kept batting at his eyes until the doctor restrained his wrists with his other hand.

The hand on his cheek brushed the soft skin, "Shhhshhhshhh, please tell me your name."

The restraint on his wrists made him all the more afraid to be hit. He kept shaking his head, eyes closing and opening, blinking.

"Come, it's okay," he whispered, plucking the boy up and setting him on his feet, "See? No one will hurt you, you're in my home. I'm Doctor Thomas Wayne; this here is my son Bruce. Can you speak?"

Again, he didn't open his mouth. Instead he tried to run and hide, but the way he held his hands out in front of him, stumbling, then smacking right into the bathroom door frame not only caused him to sob and hold his nose, but showed the doctor the reason the boy was so seemingly terrified.

"How, are these…?" asked Thomas. He believed the boy had lost his good vision because of brain damage, either from hitting his head or going without oxygen too long. However, corrective lenses would at least get some semblance of the boy's original eye-sight back.

It had taken a while to get him the glasses because the boy had slept terribly long and then refused to be of any help; when asked if the letters on the screen looked better or worse, he'd simply shrug or not respond. Thomas chalked it up to post-traumatic stress or being surrounded by strangers he didn't know.

Jonathan's eyes lit up when the glasses were placed on and he could suddenly see, clear as day. He gave a small nod that they were good, averting his eyes, afraid to see the unnaturally kind man's face for the first time.

Bruce crawled up onto the bed, startling Jonathan when he entered his field of vision unexpectedly. He flinched, falling back onto the pillows. Bruce laughed, "Jumpy much?"

Jonathan pulled a pillow up into his arms for protection from the crazy boy he could now see. Mr. Wayne chuckled, "If you're feeling up to it, my wife and Alfred will have supper ready for us in about two hours. Why don't you and Bruce go do something?"

Bruce nodded, "Sure, see you father," he waved and suddenly grabbed the recovering boy's wrist and dragged him out of the room.

* * *

Jonathan was too shocked to put up too much of a struggle at first. He allowed himself to be pulled along by the strange boy until they emerged into a new bedroom two floors up.

This room was amazing! His jaw dropped to see all of the toys and books that lined shelves around the walls; the bed took up a quarter of the room, and boy did it look inviting. He just wanted to climb on in and curl up in it under soft, warm blankets. Oh and a chair with soft cushions sat beside a reading lamp in the corner. He yearned to pull a book from the shelf to let himself be absorbed into another world. As he stared at these things with awe, Bruce busied himself trying to find out a fun game to play with a weak, mute, scared boy.

Jonathan gave a jump when a hand waved a centimeter from his eyes, "hey snap out of it," he smiled. "Hmm. I wonder what I'll call you till you start talking…" he said thoughtfully. He snapped his fingers, "I know, Edward."

Jonathan turned his gaze onto Bruce with a raised brow. Edward? What a boring, classic name… But maybe it did suit him… A new name might help him feel better in this new place, away from the world of blood and pain he'd known until now.

"Is Edward fine? Good." Bruce didn't really wait for an answer, something Jonathan quickly noticed, but he didn't bother to correct or chide him.

"So Edward, I think we should play Master-Servant. Rachel doesn't like it because her mom already works for my dad," he rolled his eyes in a huff.

'Edward' didn't really see how this game would be fun, but slowly sat down on the floor to listen as Bruce animatedly explained that they'd each take a turn as Master and Servant. The only rules were that the Master couldn't order anything that would get the Servant in trouble and that the Servant HAD to obey any other order.

Jonathan looked a bit nervous, unsure what Bruce would do as 'Master.' He didn't even know what to make Bruce do. Would he do what he ordered? How would he order if he wasn't speaking? Why should he play with this rich brat? Would Bruce get angry if Jonathan ordered something he didn't like? What if Jonathan couldn't or wouldn't obey something Bruce ordered?

He gave a shiver, wanting to go back to sleep.

Bruce reached out and grabbed his wrist unexpectedly, "Hello? I've been asking you for five minutes who should go first? Do you want to be Master or Servant first?"

Edward gave a small shrug.

"Ugh… okay hold up one or two fingers."

Edward cocked his head.

"Just do it!" Bruce ordered.

Edward jumped, holding up a finger.

"Okay, you're servant first," he smiled, going to his closet and looking through. He pulled out his small tuxedo's gloves, "here, put these on, servants always wear gloves," he smiled.

Edward slowly slipped the gloves on, noting how big they were on his smaller hands. Bruce put on his black leather shoes and handed Jonathan a cloth. "Here, wipe my shoes," he smiled.

...Bastard even as a child? Perhaps…

Jonathan held the cloth to his chest, looking u at him, then slowly got down on his knees and wiped.

"Spit on the shoe, then rub it into the leather, it makes it shine," he smiled down at Jonathan, who looked up, uncertainly before bending down again. He spit on a shoe then slowly rubbed it in. When he finished, Bruce knelt down to observe his job. "Hmmm…. Not Too bad Edward," he smiled at him. "What else shall I have you do for me?" he wondered, then glanced around the room, "Mom told me to clean my room… why don't you get started on cleaning it?" he smiled.

Edward began to really not like this game… what was fun about being forced to do labor like cleaning the dirty laundry off a stranger's floor….? He looked at Bruce defiantly and shook his head no, pointing to some underwear on the floor. No way would he touch that gross… ew…

Bruce frowned, "we agreed you have to do it if it won't hurt you or get you in trouble, so start cleaning," he said again.

Jonathan shook his head no once more.

Bruce walked to him quickly, taking his wrist and guiding him to his dirty laundry. He picked up one pair of underwear and shoved it in Jonathan's face, "It's just laundry," he frowned, "What's wrong with you? Don't you want to play? Or do you want to be punished for being a bad servant?"

Jonathan froze at that, afraid to be hit or something. Bruce seemed to realize he was afraid, and backed off, "Hm… how about you be Master first?" he said, taking the gloves from Edward and placing them on his own hands. "Now, what do You want Me to do?" he asked him.

Jonathan shrunk away from him further, backing away against a door that let loose. He fell through the door, landing on his butt, finding himself in a bathroom… a HUGE bathroom. The tile echoed with his movements across its natural-stone colored surface. The rest of the room looked like a child's bathroom wonderland. There was even a slide went into a tub that lay within the floor.

It was quite possibly the most amazing thing he'd ever seen, yet he only had his soap-scum stained, cracked, porcelain tub with the ugly see-through shower curtain that had dimmed yellow from the sun shining through the window. His home may have been relatively nice, but his parents didn't give a damn about Jonathan, so they forced him to use the bathroom that had fallen into the most disrepair. Jonathan's jaw had dropped in shock.

Bruce giggled at his strange reaction, and then walked over to him while Jonathan scrambled away from Bruce, making it into the bathtub as means to get far away as possible. He held up a bottle of shampoo as if it were a club with which he might banish his small foe.

Bruce came over and took the bottle from him, "I see, you want me to wash your hair as your order? Alright," he smiled.

Edward blinked in confusion, but decided he may as well humor him, especially since that nasty underwear was, at the moment, forgotten. "Alright, well here, come out and get undressed. Father said you needed a bath anyways. Let's just go ahead and take one. I'll help you out since you shouldn't be bending or stretching."

Jonathan wasn't sure about bathing with this person, and even less sure how the boy was rationalizing that statement. If he shouldn't be bending or stretching, then why had he ordered him to clean his room???? He was beginning to realize that this boy wasn't exactly the brightest of children.

Bruce ignored him for the moment, beginning to run the hot water along with pouring in some bubble bath to get the other exceptionally clean. He then looked over at Edward who had yet to get undressed, "C'mon then," he said, tossing his own shirt off.

Edward stared at him like he was psychotic and considered hitting him over the head with the shampoo bottle to escape, but… despite the strange boy… this place was so far, 199% better than his own home… He may as well try to keep things pleasant.

He slowly started to unbutton the long shirt he only just now realized he was wearing. It must belong to Bruce's father. He only got to three buttons down before Bruce sighed, "Okay hands down, I'll do it."

Jonathan lowered his hands, shivering a bit when Bruce came forward, quickly undoing the buttons. Jonathan's cheeks turned slightly pink to be standing nude before someone of his own age. He didn't have friends, so he didn't know what was normal or not. He'd never bathed with his parents as a child either. This was altogether new to him.

Bruce shimmied out of his own pants, tossed his socks away, one landing in the sink, one in the hamper, and smirked, throwing his underwear at Jonathan, who ducked, looking angry. "Oh don't be mad," he smirked, and then pushed him into the bathtub.

Jonathan actually yelled out in shock before splashing in, which proved to Bruce he Was capable of speaking. Jonathan came up with a loud gasp and looked rather like a half-drowned cat. His eyes were burning icy blue with hatred.

Bruce chuckled and hopped into the tub.

Having just turned seven two months prior, he looked like he was ten. Jonathan on the other hand, was due to turn seven in two more months, but looked much younger. In this respect, Bruce felt it okay to look upon the other as not his equal, but someone younger he could poke around. Not that he didn't like Jonathan, but that's how a seven-year-old, spoiled boy behaves. He couldn't help himself.

He smiled at Jonathan's evil look, "You know, you have a cranky face."

Jonathan's eyes widened and he touched his face in concern.

"HAHAHA!! You're funny Edward," he said, squirting shampoo on his hand and plopping it onto Jonathan's head. Jonathan didn't appreciate his joking and looked ready to bite him, but that was before Bruce began to run his fingers through Jonathan's matted hair.

Jonathan's eyes rolled back. He was never touched like this…. His parents had never cared for him, leaving him to take care of himself. No one had given him such gentleness… It was the most soothing thing he'd ever felt up to this point in his life,… and he quickly decided he wanted this boy to wash his hair every day for the rest of his life! Silly maybe, but that's how very good it felt.

Bruce laughed because his face had made the funniest expression. He washed the shampoo off his hair and handed him the shampoo, "Okay, do mine then?" he said, turning around and leaning his head back.

Jonathan slowly raised the bottle, giving a small smirk and pouring it all over Bruce's face. Bruce gasped, quickly dunking under the water to get it all off. When he came up, he was ready to pinch Edward to the point of making him cry, till he saw that the other boy was having a fit of silent giggles, a hand over his mouth to stifle himself from making any noise. Bruce had to laugh too, "Okay so I deserved that," he said, snatching the bottle, washing his hair himself quickly. "Anyway, we better get dressed for supper."

* * *

When Jonathan, or rather, Edward had been fitted into some of Bruce's clothes, which were much too big, Bruce grinned, "Mom's gonna love this!"

He and Edward walked downstairs to the dining room, albeit slowly for the still recovering boy. Alfred did a double-take in the grand foyer, blinking at the boy who'd looked more like a washed-up field mouse than a human until today.

The two sat down at the table, waiting for Bruce's parents to join them and be served. When Martha entered, she almost dropped her teacup. "Oh my…." She whispered.

Thomas looked over too, and stared a moment before laughing, "Oh Bruce, you're quite brilliant," he smiled, coming over to look at the child they'd rescued. He was dressed in one of Bruce's small Sunday suits, making him look classy and clean. But best of all was his hair; no longer a matted mess, it lay in gentle black curls around soft pale cheeks. The boy was positively beautiful.

Bruce puffed his chest proudly at the compliment from his father. Jonathan shrunk back a bit, cheeks pink at being given so much attention…

When the food arrived, Jonathan's eyes went wide in shock. He feared that these people were about to eat this food in front of him… and not allow him to eat… like his family often did. However, his shock escalated when his plate was loaded up with succulent foods first.

He was barely able to contain the large gargle of his stomach at the sight, and raised his spoon to take a bite of mashed potatoes. Bruce gasped and jerked the plate away, "Wait, we say Grace firs-"

He yelped, pulling his hand away just in time to avoid a spoon being stabbed into his hand, instead the silver implement imbedding itself a good inch into the chestnut dining table.

Bruce stared at the spoon that should be in his hand right now, and made a quick note to NEVER touch Edward's food… ever again….

* * *

To Catincanada~ actually i wanted to be super vague bc at the moment, its really unclear as to whether this is bruce's, jonathan's, or even alfred's flashback.. it may turn out to be a mix between them, but i want it to be super vague. flashbacks will continue after the next segment including the brain scan scene. I want to fill in their whole history, which, by the end of the flashback story, will show that EVERYTHING Jonathan has gone through after killing his parents, was basically Bruce's fault ^_^ how, i won't say yet hehe. thanks for your feedback.

Seriously, I'd like some good feedback about this chapter okay? I want to know if you all like this.


	25. A Spoonful of Recognition

Disclaimer: I do not own the Batman series or any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Plz Rate and Review!

Thanks to everyone who gave me nice long comments and constructive criticism. You make my story much better by participating in the creative process. Thank you!

* * *

  
Previously:

Bruce closed his eyes a moment, then breathed out, "Are we ready to scan his brain?" he asked. They planned to look at the findings of a brain scan to determine how they might help the man.

"Yes," Lucius agreed, turning off the x-ray screen…

.~.

He yelped, pulling his hand away just in time to avoid a spoon being stabbed into his hand, instead the silver implement imbedding itself a good inch into the chestnut dining table.

Bruce stared at the spoon that should be in his hand right now, and made a quick note to NEVER touch Edward's food… ever again….

* * *

Bruce blinked as he sat in his study, waiting for the brain scan to be complete. He'd fallen asleep in his chair, deprived of sleep from his worry over the criminal in his home, not to mention that Gotham was in a stir, attempting to recover from the Joker's rampage and Harvey Dent's untimely demise. It had been hard enough eluding the public and police when he'd been labeled as a vigilante. But being labeled as a killer was causing more hardships for him as Batman than expected.

Gordon did his best to send his officers on the wrong trails without being discovered as Batman's secret informer. Gotham needed Batman, but it also needed Harvey's name to be clean…

Bruce frowned when he sat up… he'd had the strangest dream, but he was already forgetting it… It was like… as soon as he began to realize something from the dream was important, he immediately forgot what it had been… Something about a creek… snow… underwear… shampoo… and a spoon…. The hell was he dreaming? He huffed, rubbing at his eyes, blaming the strange dream on excessive stress.

He rubbed his head, looking up when he heard Alfred approaching, "Tea, Master Bruce?" he asked, holding a tray out, "You look exhausted… Might I suggest a hot bath and a nap?"

"I can't…"

"Why not? Bruce you can't keep avoiding sleep."

"I can't… until he wakes up. I have to make sure he's stable. Then we can lock him in one of the rooms… Then I'll sleep…" He sighed, for he sounded really stupid. Why worry about his stability?

He shouldn't worry, he told himself, not about a criminal, even if he was a victim as well…

He took the teacup and attempted to not worry. Sipping slowly from his cup, he glanced at the spoon beside his tea tray, "Spoon… Hey Alfred?"

"Yes?" asked Alfred, setting down his own cup.

"Do you remember... before my parents died… " he sighed a moment, "I had a dream just now… something about a child dad saved from the creek…. Do you remember?"

Alfred frowned, "That's not something we've ever discussed Master Bruce.… As I recall, you never wanted to talk about it… and then when your parents died, we stopped talking about anything related to before your parents' death…"

"I… shut out a lot. And after they… passed, nothing else really mattered." He sighed, confused as to why he gave a second thought about the strange dream, but he couldn't drop the feeling that it was important. Whether it led to any new revelations or not, he just had to know what it had been about.

"So why bring it up now?"

"I dreamt about it, and I don't know why, but I don't remember everything that happened…"

"What did you want to know?"

"What was the boy's name?"

"From what I remember, we called him Edward."

"hmm…" Bruce sighed, trying to piece this puzzle together, however his thought process was interrupted by screams that suddenly filled the medical room of Wayne Manor when Jonathan suddenly woke up from horrific memories flooding his head and a loud sound, buzzing all around him.

His eyes shot open to discover he was inside a small confined space. He shrieked, beginning to flail as much as his body could in the tight hole. His head shook side to side; his glasses were missing, so his vision only saw bright white from the machine he subconsciously recalled as an MRI.

Bruce dropped his teacup, quickly rushing down the hall to get to the medical room where Fox was trying to calm Jonathan down, "Doctor Crane, calm down, stop moving so we can finish and get you out.."

"Please get me out!" Jonathan pleaded repeatedly.

Fox wasn't sure what Bruce would want him to do…

When they continued to remain in the tiny, loud space without answer, Scarecrow quickly took over, "GET US THE FUCK OUT OF HERE BATMAN, OR I'LL RIP YOUR WHORE-FUCKING SPINE OUT!!!!!"

"No need for such vulgarity Doctor," Fox said, "we'll have you out in a moment just still yourself."

"I'll dig out your innards with a goddamned toothpick!"

Fox raised an eyebrow at Bruce who was rushing over, "Does he normally speak so eloquently?"

"Well, when he's really pissed yeah, but not normally. Icy quiet is his typical tone," he frowned, "What's going on anyways?" He had thought the man would be out for another few hours at least.

"BAT-FREAK, GET US OUT OF HERE!" Scarecrow shrieked again, doubling his efforts to escape.

Bruce grimaced, "Is the machine hurting him Fox?" He wondered briefly if perhaps the machine's magnetism was somehow harming the maniac within. And dammit he cared. Why? He didn't know, but he cared none the less.

"It shouldn't be."

Bruce peeked in at the machine that held the criminal and shouted, "Shut up and calm down Scarecrow, we'll have you out in a minute. Are you afrai-"

"If you finish that sentence I'll strangle you with your fucking seven hundred dollar shoelaces! LET ME OUT!"

Alfred and Fox both had a slight chuckle when Bruce's face lit up, "They don't cost seven hun-"

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!" Shrieked Scarecrow in fury that the damn bat wouldn't stop talking and just let them out of the tiny, loud space. "P-please…." He whispered, using Jonathan's softer voice to fool the Bat.

He was rewarded immediately, for Bruce couldn't deny Jonathan like he could deny the Scarecrow. The machine was shut down, and Jonathan's bed slowly released from within. Bruce instantly regretted his decision, as Scarecrow hissed, jumping up and kicking him right in the head. How he'd broken free of the straps was beyond Bruce, but he suddenly had one hell of a predicament on his hand, not to mention a headache that sent him reeling backwards into a table, spilling the contents across the floor.

Scarecrow had knocked Bruce on his ass, temporarily stunning him. He ignored the pains of his body, quickly looking for an implement with which to cut someone's head off with when his eyes landed on a teacup, spoon, and his glasses!

Fast as lightning, the man had his glasses upon his face and the spoon in his hand, spun it around like some ninja, guarding himself against the men who were blocking the doorway.

"Doctor Crane please calm down! We're trying to help you," Alfred said, holding his hands up defensively. He knew at least that the man hadn't hurt him before, and maybe might not hurt him still.

"I'm sorry dear butler, but my sweet Jonathan is ready to be free of this place, and who am I to deny him?" The Scarecrow smirked, eyes almost glowing with dark intent. When Alfred moved to at least stall him long enough for Bruce to recover, Scarecrow leapt forward, shoving the butler against the wall with his own body, raising the spoon and swinging it down towards him.

"Edward…" whispered Bruce, causing the Scarecrow's weapon come to an abrupt halt one millimeter from Alfred's hand.

His eyes slowly turned, looking at the millionaire from the corner of his eyes, "…."

"Edward… that was his name… that was your name… the name I gave you," he said, eyes wide, staring at the spoon in his hand. "Only you would use a spoon as a weapon…" he gave a small smile that enraged the Scarecrow.

"Don't think you know me fool," he warned, releasing Alfred and turning on Bruce, waving the soon angrilly.

"Why did you choose to call yourself that, when hiding as a librarian?" he frowned, nodding for the other two to sneak away, which they did immediately.

"Shut up! Jonathan chose the name, because he'd almost gotten to have a good life, a life you chose to ruin. And you didn't fail to ruin it time and time again after that!"

"What are you talking about?" Bruce frowned.

"See? You only remember a name and a face don't you?" he asked coming closer to Bruce who was still sitting on the floor. He slowly crouched onto the floor and crawled up to Bruce, looking up at him with a sly, dangerous, even slightly seducing expression.

Bruce leaned back a bit when Jon – Scarecrow's face came so close he could feel his breath. Was it strange that it felt ice cold??

Scarecrow smiled, "You are the reason we've become this way my Big Bat Fiend…" he whispered, leaning in closer, running his breath down Bruce's neck, causing the other to shudder, but tense up, ready to restrain the criminal should he get violent. "Do you remember the secret we told you? The promise you made?"

"Promise?" Bruce asked, knitting his brows together in confusion.

"You promised something very important to us… Jonathan trusted you, and you let him down," he whispered, running a finger down Bruce's chest. "You hurt him deeply, try to remember won't you Brucey? You've always been a factor in this life we share… and it would hurt him so if I had to kill you without you even REMEMBERING what you've done. He wants to see the recognition in your eyes when we choke the life from you," he purred, brushing his lips against Bruce's.

He smiled cockily, lifting his head, tilting his jaw up, "oh dear, you're excited," he said, feeling Bruce's unwilling reaction to the Scarecrow's teasing. Scarecrow ran a hand down his chest to his groin and gave a small squeeze. "That's the first time you've been excited by ME Bruce, although, I'm pretty certain it's Jonathan's face that is giving you this," he squeezed again to accentuate his point. "If you saw MY face,… you might cry," he whispered, pressing his lips to his clothed groin.

Bruce jerked in reaction, pushing Scarecrow off and standing up looking furious. He stood over Jonathan's form with an angry expression, "I'm not like you. I like women…"

"Sure you do," he whispered, "That's why you had that model hm? But look at you, you like this body… you want it. But you don't give a damn what it is Jonathan wants or needs. He doesn't NEED you to fuck him without remorse, then turn to another to sate your lust. Besides Batman, I can fulfill his every need. If he wants, I can bring him the greatest sensations anyone could ever experience. He doesn't need you or anyone else. We are complete."

"Is that why he cries at night huh? Because you complete him? I doubt it!" Bruce growled.

"HAH! He cries at night for the pain he's endured because you're a spoiled, only child!" Scarecrow hissed. "I don't hide my narcissism for Jonathan. He's the only thing besides our dear Nightmare that I love. But you will never be true, even if you were to marry. I cannot let you toy with Jonathan's fragile emotions, but I can toy with you," he smiled, laying back sexily, "Because deep down, you want him more than you'll allow yourself to give in to, and you don't even know why."

Bruce swallowed hard, for he was so stiff now… so much it hurt, which pissed him off enough to raise his foot and step cruelly on Crane's chest, causing him to scream in pain and revert to Jonathan. "Nnnn!... s-stop can't b-breath… what… are you doing?" he whimpered.

"As if you don't know! Control your other self Jonathan, or I'll control him myself!" Bruce warned, a promise of pain to come.

"I… Leave me alone!" he cringed, breathing hard.

Bruce stepped harder, letting his anger get the better of him. "Let… s-stop…" he hurt everywhere, and had no idea why Bruce was so angry. He shook and looked around, "wh-what's going on anyway??? I w-was in my cell… then was suddenly in… HIS room…" he whimpered at the memory of pain. "Why am I… here? Why did you bring me here?" his eyes widened. "Why did you take me there!?" he gasped with more emphasis. "I was being good… I… how could you!?"

"What are you babbling about? I couldn't keep you here, and you belong at Arkham!" he growled, "you're a criminal Jonathan. A psychopath with no cares as to who lives and who dies."

"And you're a monster," Jonathan hissed.

"WHAT DID YOU CALL ME?" Bruce growled in his Batman voice.

"A Monster!" Jonathan cried out, struggling under his foot to get free, hacking when Bruce stepped harshly on his broken rib, "Haa-aah!!"

"I'm not a monster, you are! You and the Joker!" He growled, seething with pent up anger.

"I'm only what people like you have made me-EE!" he shrieked when Bruce picked him up and carried him roughly out of the room.

"Let me go!" he repeated, crying from the betrayal of Bruce. He had believed maybe the man would help him… he had believed that their almost loving last time 'in bed' with one another, had brought the man around to at least caring how he felt… But Scarecrow had been right. Jonathan was a fool for hoping.

He yelled and screamed and cried until he was thrown into his cell. He shrank back as the lock clicked, hiding in the darkness, his mind slowly beginning to panic. Off his correct meds for several weeks and now even off of the incorrect medications from Arkham, the hallucinations and fear induced by his own toxin that had so damaged his mind came rolling back slowly, worsened by prolonged abuse he'd received so frequently as of late.

Bruce paced back and forth by his monitors, angry at himself and angrier at the Scarecrow. Who was he to be blaming Bruce for all his problems? He hadn't done anything to the stupid fiend… well… other than beat and rape him… "Fuck it!" he growled, growing more furious as his raging hard on throbbed.

He stomped back to the cell after changing into his bat suit, ready to go out for the night, "What do I need to get to help you?! I won't have you screaming day in and day out."

"Get away from me!" Came a muffled, terrified voice.

"Don't give me your shit, just tell me. I've a busy night ahead…" he frowned.

"I'm not giving you s-shit and I don't care what kind of night you have! Go find another whore or whatever monster bats do at night!" He was drowning in hallucinations by now, and worse, the Batman's hoarse commanding voice was making them worse, "just go away!"

"I'M TRYING TO HELP YOU!" Batman growled, throwing the door open and prowling in. Jonathan screamed, writing on the floor in the corner.

"I don't want your help! I don't! Leave me! Don't hurt me! I'll be good , I'll be so good! Won't we? I promise! Don't! Haaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh!!! Make it stop! I didn't do anything wrong, I swear! Don't! Not again! Scarecrow!!!! Save me..." He was suddenly spasming on the floor, and Bruce's jaw fell open to see such a scene.

Bruce fell to his knees beside him, pulling him into his arms, "I'm sorry… Calm down… you're alright Jonathan…"

"Haaahaaaaaha!" he sobbed.

"Do you need me to take you back to Arkham?"

"N-no no no please! Batman please don't! I don't want to go back! I'll be good! Don't give me to the birds!"

"Birds?" Bruce frowned in confusion.

"Birds……." Jonathan whispered in terror. He then began to scream out the ingredients of his fear toxin, of his medications, random names of people from Arkham… anything to make the horrors in his mind go away. Nothing worked, he needed his own medications… the ones still back at his apartment near the library 'Edward Pierce' had worked at.

"Jonathan… what do you need? Tell me. I want to help you!"

"D-don't want… help from you… You only… betray me…" he whispered in pain.

"I haven't –"

"You have! I hate you! I hate you! I trusted you!" he cried.

"Trusted me? To do what?"

"You're a fool!" he hissed, batting at him with his hands to get him away.

Bruce growled, grabbing him by the back of his hair, "I'm not a fool."

"A-haa… d-don't!" he cowered, screwing his eyes shut.

"I'm NOT a fool!" he shook the younger man's head to get his point across. The lost look in Jonathan's eyes reminded him of the child Edward, from so long ago, and the lost look he too had held. "You really are him…" he whispered slowly in disbelief.

Jonathan turned his eyes away from the Batman, unable to stand the sight of him, "You disgust me…"

Batman jerked, throwing him against the far wall of the cell, grimacing as he heard a crack. "I… I didn't mean to do that…." He whispered, shocked at his own, uncalled for actions.

"You never mean it," Jonathan said accusatorily. "L-like I said… d-don't need y-your help…." He slowly sank to the floor, holding his last, broken pair of glasses in his hands.

"It will be okay Jonathan…" whispered the Scarecrow.

"No… it won't," came Jonathan's reply as he curled up with his destroyed spectacles clutched to his chest, hiding his head between his knees.

Bruce frowned, feeling awful for what he'd done, knowing full well that Jonathan was suffering from being off whatever medications he needed.

"Jonathan… tell me what meds you nee-"

"SHUT UP!" Scarecrow barked at him.

"Scarecrow, tell me, and I'll go get what he needs… And give me the glasses," he added, planning to get some more.

"Fuck-off," Scarecrow whispered venomously.

Bruce gave a sigh, then knocked him out swiftly, taking his glasses, "Well… there goes my night," he sighed heavily, with one last, longing glance at Jonathan's soft face before he vanished into the night.

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Seriously, I'd like some good feedback about this chapter okay? I want to know if you all like this.


	26. Christmas Cheer

Disclaimer: I do not own the Batman series or any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Plz Rate and Review!

Thanks to everyone who gave me nice long comments and constructive criticism. You make my story much better by participating in the creative process. Thank you!

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Previously:

"Scarecrow, tell me, and I'll go get what he needs… And give me the glasses," he added, planning to get some more.

"Fuck-off," Scarecrow whispered venomously.

Bruce gave a sigh, then knocked him out swiftly, taking his glasses, "Well… there goes my night," he sighed heavily, with one last, longing glance at Jonathan's soft face before he vanished into the night.

* * *

"Edwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaard!" called Bruce as he ran through the halls, looking for his house-guest. "Eeeeeeedwaaaaaaaaard!"

Jonathan peeked from behind a sculpture, hiding fro Bruce, who'd told him the point of hide-and-seek was to have one hide, and another search. The person who found the best hiding place was the real winner. He didn't care about winning, but there were fringe benefits to staying hidden from Bruce for a while.

Bruce seemed to have an endless supply of ideas for games to play. Anything from red knuckles and the master-servant game to cops and robbers, Star Wars, and wrestling was on the list for each day's activities. So far, he had liked the game cops and robbers least of all. Bruce was always the cop, chasing after the villain Edward. Once he was caught, Bruce would tie him to a chair and spoon feed him lima beans… Therefore, a game like hide-and-seek seemed innocent enough, and didn't appear to have a negative outcome.

Once the boy seemed to be far enough away, he snuck out from his hiding place, running off down the hall, happy to be alone. He walked down the hall now, unable to move fast for long periods of time, as he was still recovering, and noticed a large double set of doors standing ajar. His curiosity got the better of him, causing him to slowly peek his head around one of the doors.

He could have cried at the sight he beheld… Books, books, and more books everywhere! By row, by stack, by alphabetical order based upon categories galore they sat. He stood stock still in the doorway with his jaw on the floor. So absorbed was he, that he didn't notice Dr. Thomas Wayne drinking tea in the corner, reading a paper. The man was now looking over his paper at the unexpected guest.

Jonathan walked towards the shelves as if in a trance. His hand reached out to touch the bindings of the glorious knowledge portals. His lips spread into the first smile Thomas Wayne had seen upon the boy since he'd been rescued.

Jonathan had yet to discover who many of these fine people were who wrote these many, many volumes. Yet it did not matter. These people had voices that carried on, so long as someone cared to open the pages.

When Mr. Wayne folded his newspaper, Jonathan turned white, almost jumping out of his skin. His face whipped around to look at the doctor smiling at him. Thomas set the paper down and stood, coming over. He smiled, "You like books Edward?"

Edward took a step back, keeping a safe, four foot distance between himself and the doctor. He eyed him with the same mistrust he gave any adult male. He slowly nodded in answer, looking at the books longingly. At school was the only place he'd gotten to have books… When Thomas reached out to pat his head, Edward turned tail and ran for it. Thomas had to chuckle to see him run so fast.

Edward gave out a cry of shock when he ran into Bruce, who then smirked, "Found you."

A massive roll of the eyes told how USELESS Edward found this game and the statement of 'found you,' for that would imply Bruce had actually found him, therefore winning. Instead, Jonathan had run into him. That made the game null and void… right? Damn straight. He was no loser.

Bruce looked proud for winning, "Now, since I won, you have to…" he thought for a long moment. "You have to be nice to Rachael today."

Edward grimaced. That was by far, the worst punishment Bruce had thought of yet. He FUCKING HATED that little girl… She was snooty and far too worried about morals. She wouldn't do anything that would result in her getting in trouble, tattled on anything Bruce did that was 'wrong,' and she looked at Jonathan like he was a dirty bug. She'd judged him the first day she saw him, declaring outright that Bruce shouldn't play with him. Therefore, she was on the shit list with him.

Whenever forced to be in her company, he merely gave her icy glares, refusing to play with Bruce if she was around. Of course, Bruce had liked Rachael for a long time, and would, on those occasions, play with her instead of Jonathan, further making the boy loathe her existence. And Rachael was more than happy to play with Bruce in front of Edward, so long as the freakish boy didn't come near.

Last time however, Edward had gotten pissed off and dumped a bucket of water over her head…

He gave Bruce an imploring look that said, 'do I have to?'

Bruce laughed, "Yeah, you do, besides, it's Christmas Eve. Better be nice or you won't get any presents."

Jonathan rolled his eyes once more, for who gave a damn about presents anyway? He'd never gotten one, so, they couldn't be that good right?

He followed Bruce downstairs where Rachael was waiting with her mother and Alfred. They were waiting for the Wayne family to come downstairs so they could decorate the tree in the great room, which stood about 18 feet tall. A giant ladder stood beside the tree for easy access to each level. Thomas came in with his wife, who was carrying a tray of cocoa.

Mrs. Wayne opened up a container of glass bulbs for the tree. Fragile and opalescent white, they looked expensive and old at the same time. She smiled, telling the children that they had belonged to her own mother, and they were very important to her, so they should be very careful.

The children began to decorate the tree where they could reach while the adults decorated higher. Honestly, Jonathan wondered what a decorated tree had to do with the birth of Jesus. His family had sure never done something so preposterous, and yet, he found the activity almost endearing…

The tiny glass bulbs shone in the light from the tree and fireplace. All of the bulbs together glittered in the light… He stood, staring at the tree for what seemed like ages to him. Rachael scoffed, "Edward help or move."

He did his best not to shove Rachael when she looked at him like an intruder, but he certainly didn't warn her when she was about to step on a bulb and brake it. He cracked a shit-eating grin when she did, and the sound made her gasp and everyone look. "Y-you did that on purpose!" she growled at Edward, who cocked his head, still grinning like, 'fuck you, I had nothing to do with it.'

Everyone looked at him a moment, then Thomas laughed, "So there is a smile in you," he chuckled. Edward's cheeks turned red as a fire engine, causing everyone to laugh merrily except Rachael who was still peeved, and of course Mrs. Wayne who looked at the broken bulb with a sad expression.

Edward frowned, picking up a cup of cocoa and plopping himself down in a warm chair, finished helping with the tree since Rachael was now crying that she'd broken it by accident. Bruce pat her back, "Don't worry, we know it was an accident. Mom still loves you."

Love… Edward wondered if anyone could ever love him… and more, could he ever love someone else?

Rachael sniffed and pointed at Edward, "I hate your icky friend Bruce!"

Bruce pouted, "Awww, c'mon Rachael!"

Alfred came over and knelt beside the reclusive Edward and gave him a chocolate bonbon, smiling down at him and whispering, "Don't let Rachael bug you. Girls her age can be fussy, jealous things, and you're quite mature for your age aren't you? Bruce and Rachael are just toddlers compared to you, so smile," he said encouragingly. He could tell the boy was not used to immaturity or normal 7 year old fits.

He cocked his head and then saw the man in a new light. The elderly man was more than just hired help here… he was like a wise grandfather, not that he'd know what a kind old grand-pappy was like to have. The only 'old-bat' he'd run across was now rotting beneath the floorboards of a classroom…

After they'd sat around drinking cocoa and watching puppets sing a bunch of Christmas crap, Edward slumped over, falling asleep against Bruce. He thought for a moment, that the warmth felt nice, that the atmosphere here was peaceful, and that he and the Scarecrow could find happiness here.

* * *

Why was he doing this? He had no idea… Why was he trying to make nice with this family? He could only guess… Scarecrow didn't even berate him for what he was currently attempting. In fact, he seemed to find it a good idea as well. This would win the family over for him…

He thanked the quiet voice of his savior and sometimes companion. Scarecrow had saved him before when he interfered, and he was sure that he could rely on the voice, as it had never steered him wrong.

He bent over and squinted through his glasses as he worked delicately throughout the night. Who cared about Santa? The fat-ass was a myth anyway. He'd always been a good boy, but the bastard sure hadn't come down his chimney to fill his stockings with joy and cavity-inducing things. Santa was about as real as a Jackalope and talking dinosaurs.

He finished sometime in the night and observed his completed creation before placing it in a box and wrapping it up. He took it down the stairs, being sure to tip-toe on all the stairs, avoiding the squeaky fifth step from the bottom. He placed the freshly wrapped items under the tree before 'sneaking' back up the stairs.

Mr. Wayne smiled from the corner, having just managed to hide in time to not be seen delivering 'Santa's' gifts. He wondered what that child might have put under the tree….

* * *

He woke the next morning to a heavy weight sitting on top of him, which had happened in his life far too many times for comfort. He was being shaken by an overly excited Bruce, "wake up wake up! It's Christmas morning!!!" he laughed.

Edward opened his eyes to see Bruce straddling him as he shook his shoulders. He narrowed his eyes, glaring at him to get the hell off before he did something horrible to him.

Bruce caught on quickly, hopping off of him but pulled the covers off, "C'mon, you have to make the bed, and we can't make the bed if you don't get up! And we don't make the bed, I don't get my presents!!!"

Edward rolled his eyes. Who cared if the spoilt brat didn't get his stupid presents? Jonathan certainly wasn't expecting anything. To expect, was to be given disappointment.

He sat up and sighed before swinging his legs off the huge bed and standing. He wanted to get dressed, but as he picked up some pants, Bruce laughed, "NO! We open presents in our pajamas!"

Giving a small sigh, tired from his activities the previous night, or perhaps it had been morning. Dragging his feet, he followed the overly excited brat down the stairs into the grand hall with the tree still glittering just as brightly as the previous night, only with a warm morning glow.

He looked out the large windows near the rear of the room and blinked. For once, the snow didn't look so very cold and cruel… It looked beautiful. Like the cards he often saw in shop windows, or like Christmas commercials on the TV…

Icicles hung from the corners of the windows, reflecting in the morning sunlight, casting little dots of light dancing across the room. Snow blanketed everything, glittering and fresh. The blue sky mimicked the color of his eyes. He thought then, that maybe he was like winter. It could be all kinds of awful… but on select mornings, it could be radiant…

Brought out of an almost poetic reverie by the brat of the house himself, his brow twitched, knowing the perfect moment had died already. He looked at the boy who was poking him with a look that could kill.

"Someone looks like he didn't sleep last night! Were you trying to spy on Santa?" he smiled.

He rolled his eyes. Oh yeah that's exactly what he'd been doing, sneaking up on a fat man who broke into people's houses at night to eat their cookies and drink their milk in return for the dollar-store crap he left behind. Pshh… What idiot parent would let a fairy-tale take credit for whatever gifts they'd bought with their hard-earned money? Didn't the Best gifts come from Santa? And the parents had to hear about how much better Santa's gifts were….

He promptly sat down where Bruce shoved him, finding himself on a cushion. He gave a little bounce on it and found it was pleasant enough. He accepted the cup of eggnog and a dish with a cinnamon roll without complaint. He did like sweet things….

Bruce looked impatient, and when he whined, Edward gave him a look of disdain, and Bruce huffed, plopping down on his butt, having learned to not rush him when it came to food. By the time he was licking the remains of sugar from his small fingers, Bruce was positively bouncing. He wanted to open his presents!!!

The plates were collected by Alfred before Thomas sat down beside Martha and turned the Christmas music down to fade into background music. He finally gave the go ahead, causing Bruce to dive towards the tree.

Jonathan sat still, still sipping eggnog. He was both nervous about the presents he'd hidden there, and curious as to what Bruce got for Christmas… He had no expectations for himself.

Bruce tore into his first present which he announced was from Rachael. She'd gotten him a Junior Detective's kit, complete with hat, fake mustache, magnifying glass and hand-cuffs. Edward silently cursed her… the last thing Bruce needed was a set of damn handcuffs!! He rolled his eyes as Bruce glanced at him with a grin. He gave him a glare that distinctly said 'No.'

Jonathan watched him tear into gifts from people that Bruce had never met before. Clearly a bunch of gold-diggers and brown-nosers sent him gifts to get on the Wayne's good side.

Alfred gave Bruce a baseball bat, chuckling that it would get him outside and playing with some boys his own age. The Waynes gave Bruce an ATV, which they showed him by pulling the window curtains to the side. Bruce screamed, totally stoked. This one was even equipped for the snow!

Edward shook his head, wondering what Bruce had gotten for his birthday a few months prior.

Bruce looked back under the tree and blinked to see three small boxes wrapped in newspaper. He glanced at Edward who stared up at the star on top of the Christmas tree. Bruce pulled them out and looked at the packaging and saw one was for him, one for his parents, and one for Alfred. None said who it was from, but it was rather obvious.

Thomas looked at Edward, "Well this is a surprise…" he smiled, genuinely happy that their guest would do something like this. Edward had yet to speak, or indicate he would tell them where he'd come from, why he'd been in the creek, or what his name was.

Thomas had alerted the authorities, but so far, no names of missing children had come up matching his description.

"Who do you want to open their gift first?" he asked Edward, who looked mildly embarrassed.

He looked over at Alfred, who then looked shocked when Bruce placed the gift on his lap. He wondered what the boy could possibly have gotten for him… He had no money. Slowly unwrapping the box, he found a drawing done in pencil the boy had clearly found in Dr. Wayne's office.

He had to close his eyes a moment before smiling to himself. No one had to see this… It was special… truly special.

Everyone waited for him to show it off, and when he didn't, Martha chuckled, "Okay, is it our turn darling?" she asked Edward.

The dark haired, pale child had never heard himself referred to as 'darling,' but he liked it. He gave her a nod, still not directly looking at them.

She opened it beside her husband and gasped. She ever so gently lifted the bauble that had been broken the previous night. It was held together quite ingeniously… Edward had found a clear light bulb in his bedroom and glued the pieces of the bauble onto it. He'd then found string and tied it at the top as more decoration.

Martha began to cry… it was such a sweet gesture. She gave it to Thomas then swept over and pulled the unsuspecting boy into a tight embrace, kissing his forehead. Jonathan was SHOCKED, eyes wide and mouth open. His own mother had not ONCE in his life given him a real hug. Sure she'd pretended to embrace him in front of guests… Sure his father would place a hand on his shoulder, as if proud… But it had all been an illusion. His mother loathed him, and his father simply enjoyed breaking him.

While Jonathan was squashed in her arms, Bruce tore into his own gift, expecting something cool too. He blinked, pulling out a lump of coal!!! His jaw dropped. Everyone turned to him and the room lit up with joyous laughter.

When Jonathan went to bed after a long Christmas day with the Wayne family, he gasped at what lay on the bed. A stack of books lay on it, a bow placed on top. He picked up a copy of Alice in Wonderland and The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. He didn't know either story of course, but that made it all the more better…

He put the books gently on the bedside table, petting them gently, before setting his glasses down on them and then curling up in bed. He and Scarecrow could honestly agree that this was the best day of Jonathan's life.

That was until he saw the newspaper the next morning…

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Hey I think this has been one of my cutest chapters, so don't you DARE not post a comment/review!!! Rawr!


	27. Charity

I'm so very sorry for my long hiatus. I have been busy, then comp broke, then ch deleted, then new year of college, sooooo busy, then my dog died and I pretty much hated life. I'm feeling better now and reeeeeeally wanna continue my story. So here is my new, long chapter!!!! ENJOY!!!!!!

* * *

Bruce took the broken glasses to an eyeglass doctor to discover what prescription they were. Afterwards, he had returned home and asked Alfred to order about 100 of them to be delivered by the weekend. Alfred had accepted the task quietly, while Bruce seemed to be stuck in a funk.

"Master Bruce?" he asked slowly, watching Bruce sitting at his desk, knee bouncing.

"Yeah..?" he responded after a long pause in which the Butler wondered if he would get an answer at all.

"What's bothering you?" he asked.

"Nothin'," Bruce sighed, looking at his computer screen, lacking the will to keep searching through the pages for what he'd been looking for.

The butler tsked and sat down across from Bruce, pausing in his quest to order the glasses via his digital planner. "Having known and cared for you the entire expanse of your life, I would say I know very well when something is on your mind. Now, try again to tell me just what it is that's pestering you," he said sternly, but affectionately.

Bruce had the decency to look at least slightly ashamed of not trusting the butler with his thoughts, "Sorry Alfred, I'm just... I am afraid to take Crane back to Arkham, but I don't see how he'll get any better here... I do nothing but hurt him. I'm a monster in his eyes."

"That may be true, and I cannot say that I wouldn't agree. Your behavior recently has been appalling, and the treatment you give him, whether intended or not, and whether he be a criminal or not, is still beyond description..."

Bruce flinched to hear him agree so wholly....

"What should I do Alfred?" he sighed, rubbing his temple. "I... I'm unable to resist him... I can't ignore him, I can't stay calm, I can't touch him without breaking him, I can't leave him without wondering constantly if he's okay..."

"Sounds a bit like love," Alfred commented.

"Alfred, I'm being serious!" Bruce huffed, slamming the desk with open palms, making a rather loud "SLAP" noise.

"So am I Bruce," he said gently. Bruce leaned his head back, groaning. There was no way he was IN LOVE. Maybe stricken, infatuated, addicted, curious, ... but by no means was he in love. He didn't feel fuzzy or light like he'd felt with Rachel Dawes ... Nor did he feel respect and adoration like for his parents and Alfred. All he felt was this sense of overwhelming pity, anger, and desire.

He couldn't ignore Crane. He couldn't imagine letting the Joker touch him. He couldn't imagine keeping him here either...

All he knew,... was that he needed to find out more about Jonathan before something else happened.

"I'm ... I'm tired. This whole fiasco is more than I bargained for when I found him. I never intended to et personally involved with a criminal. I know he tried to gas the whole city,.. that he was working for Raz al Ghul,... he lit me on fire, he gassed me, tried to kill Rachel, ... but now knowing that... he may well have had a worse past than me... how can I say that his incarceration is justified?" he looked so conflicted. The law didn't have a way to deal with such complexities.... His morals could not wrap around this....

"Maybe you can start by asking him about his past?" Alfred asked, "Find out what others could not. Where did he come from? What happened, why was he working for Raz?" Alfred suggested.

Bruce looked up, "I doubt he'll want to talk..." he said with a grimace, "Though, it does concern me... based on how hard as hell it was to get that flower up the mountain to the League of Shadows' hideout... I wonder how it is Crane ever managed..." he looked annoyed, "Further... I keep remembering all this... shit about when Edward was here that Christmas long ago..." He tapped a pen on the desk as he spoke, growing steadily louder as he thought of too much at once.

"How about some incentive?" Alfred quipped.

"Come again?" Bruce asked, looking up at his dear friend.

"Incentive? Like candy for a five year old who would otherwise refuse to get in the tub," he chuckled, recalling such an incident with Bruce so long ago.

Bruce at first rolled his eyes. What an idiotic idea....

...

What a stupid idea...

....

What an idea, what a brilliant, superb, and genius idea!

He looked up suddenly, "That's... brilliant!" He beamed.

Alfred chuckled, "Don't get too overexcited... candy won't work for Dr. Crane."

* * *

Edward had come downstairs to sneak a bite to eat. He normally wouldn't risk it even if he was starving, for fear of the consequences, but... he thought that with these people, there might not even be a punishment for it. Although, he would never ask and would never look for someone at this early hour to help with food. Who really knew if there were consequences right? Scarecrow told him it was best to just stay quiet and sneak back upstairs.

But it would seem that the butler was already up and about, because the paper was already in, and table set for the breakfast that would no doubt be stupendous. The man's hat and coat were not on the hanger by the back pantry door, so... he must be out buying morning bread. How someone could afford FRESH milk and bread every day was beyond him. He'd been lucky to get bread that was hard and crunchy or gooey and moldy, much less something that appeared edible and didn't make his stomach flop. He wondered to Scarecrow if he might get fat living here and how nice that might feel.

_'I wouldn't suggest fat... but gaining some pounds would give you a bigger advantage than not,' _his counterpart responded to his idle wondering.

Jonathan smiled. It was so nice to not be alone.

He opened the refrigerator to see the hundreds of yummy looking items. He could hardly choose what to take. His eyes settled on peppered pickles and pulled out the jar. Sitting down at the table with his jar he opened it as he began to read the paper.

He felt so happy today, perhaps due to the gifts of books he'd found on his bed or perhaps because of the warm evening he'd spent with the Wayne family the prior evening, or maybe it was the lack of terror he felt around these people. All he really knew was that for the first time in a long time, he felt stable and at peace.

That was, until he opened to the second page... There, in the bottom right corner was a picture... of himself... Albeit it was a picture of himself from home, dirty and in his sister's old clothing, he barely looked recognizable compared to how he looked right now. He quickly read over the text:

_Family found massacred Christmas evening. Local police baffled and disturbed by the intensely violent scene they found after receiving a call from a neighbor, who reportedly had not seen the family for some time. _

_ "When the Mrs. did not come by to wish us a Merry Christmas, I was certain something was wrong," said Ms. Dubbleman, a family friend. _

_ Police dubbed the scene too graphic to allow reporters inside, but one officer described: "The man of the house was laying in the kitchen, butchered, his eyes gouged out and... his nethers castrated..." After a pause in which he had to suppress a gag, he continued: "The Mrs. was found upstairs, strangled with a curtain... We are concerned, for reports note that there is a young boy, the illegitimate son of the Mrs., who is currently missing. We fear he has been abducted or killed elsewhere. Any information that can be found about this boy - Jonathan - should be reported to 911 immediately."_

_ If the boy is found in health, he will be given to the hospital, and to his Grandmother, who has offered to take the now orphaned child in._

Jonathan almost choked on his pickle as he read the report. The Coffee Lady? The woman who always looked down at him like he was an insect she would crush?? She was a terrifying old crow and he could not imagine what life would be like if he was forced to live with her! NO he would not go. He quickly tore out the story and shoved the pickles into the fridge.

Turning to leave, he gasped when he heard footsteps coming his way. He ducked under the table as Mr. and Mrs. Wayne stepped into the room. "So... what are we going to do Thomas?" came Mrs. Wayne's voice.

"We have to wait and see. We've notified Gotham's child services and the police about Edward. They said that unless someone reports him missing or he gives us his name we can keep him here. If by the new year we don't find his family, we can adopt him."

Martha smiled brightly, "Wouldn't it be wonderful? He looks like he needs a loving home...." she said wistfully.

"And Bruce might benefit from having a brother his age," Thomas spoke.

"Yes. I... oh after last evening... I don't want to give him up to anyone.. He is so precious and thoughtful underneath his quietness."

Thomas chuckled, "Don't forget he has spunk too. He's not going to let Bruce be spoiled forever."

She giggled, "oh stop, he's not that spoiled."

"Oh yes he is and you know it," he laughed, chasing her out of the room, the two of them happily leaving.

Meanwhile, Jonathan was rooted to the spot. The Waynes wanted him to stay.... They liked him and wanted him to be part of their family! And here, he held the clipping that could destroy his chances. He only had to get through a few more days before the new year.... and he would be happy forever!

* * *

Bruce wondered what in God's green earth he could use to make Jonathan WANT to cooperate... to share the past that he obviously wanted to remain buried. He could honestly think of nothing in particular that would make the psychologist spill.

Books? Jonathan loved them obviously, but he doubted the man would make any sacrifices of knowledge for the sake of obtaining one. New glasses? He assumed Jonathan would simply decide to not open his eyes anymore, rather than speak. Other than that, he knew of nothing, and it frustrated him beyond belief.

He had found Pierce's apartment by sneaking a peek at the Police files. It was near the library that Pierce had worked at. It appeared that Jonathan, who did not like to drive, preferred to live close to work. As was the case with the Narrows' close vicinity to Arkham.

Upon entering, he wasn't exactly shocked by how barren the place was. Jonathan didn't seem to have many ties to the material world, if his scoff for finery was any indication.

What did surprise him was how utterly clean and ordered everything was. From the shoes on the mat by the door, which were set straight and ordered by type and color, to the kitchen, which had everything in place. Every spice in the cabinet was set with its label showing, alphabetically categorized.

Now, Jonathan did not consider himself obsessive compulsive. No, he just liked things in their proper place. Besides, if one thing were out of place, he would know it if someone had tampered with his things. Perhaps that would be called paranoia, but having grown up with such an abusive family, and a father that would come into his room, he tended to make note of it when things had been slightly altered. If his bedroom door was more than an inch open, then his father had come in to stare at him in the night...

Growing older had not changed that fact. Living with his Grandmother had almost been a worse nightmare, and hiding anything from her that he owned was difficult. Everything had to have order, in her eyes, so his tendencies actually helped him survive, but his powers of observance led him the ability to know if she'd been snooping around in his things for something to punish him for... like his anatomy book from school, which had had a picture of a naked man and woman, genitals and all. The punishment he'd received for such a book... it was almost beyond words.

But to those who knew nothing of what he had suffered,... meaning everyone, his apartment's conditions seemed unnatural... even artificial. It was like no one had really lived here, or maybe someone with feelings that were much like that of a robot. Cold, calculated, ordered, heartless. It made Bruce shiver.

His eyes roamed the apartment, looking for old glasses and the medications that the other had no doubt hidden. The police reports hadn't noted finding any odd medicine, so it was likely that they'd been hidden for this very reason. So, if not in the medicine cabinet, where might Jonathan hide needed prescriptions? He first checked obvious places, like under the bed, in the pillows, in the vents, but came up empty handed.

Looking at the bed again, he saw the violin case that had been mentioned before, the one containing the violin and the diary inside. He slowly opened the case and pulled out an old, but cared for violin. He wondered, as he inspected it, where he'd obtained such a fine instrument from. Violins were considered best when both antique and taken care of. This was both, and the subsequent value of it would probably exceed a few grand. So, with his apathy for anything fine, expensive, or luxurious, why have such a thing, especially paired with his most important thoughts compiled in the diary?

Searching around with his eyes, he sighed. There was nothing in here that spoke about his past. Nothing about his family, nothing about the league of shadows... He could read the diary... but it was too personal, too graphic, too unfiltered, too confusing. Nothing in it made sense to the sane person, and merely reading an entry would only further confuse rather than shed light on the subject, Jonathan Crane. At least, that's what Bruce felt. Of course, if a psychologist got hold of the diary, perhaps a diagnosis could be made... but he was not sure.

He stood, laying the violin back in its case. He would bring this item along and see if he could bargain it for a little cooperation from Crane to locate the needed medicine, and perhaps a little information. It was maybe a double-bubble, stale and hard to chew, but it was still a sugary piece of candy, perhaps enough to entice Crane's furious eyes.

* * *

Jonathan had been smart enough to hide the clipping from the newspaper somewhere that the butler wouldn't find when making the beds or changing the sheets. It'd been hard at first, but he'd settled for hiding it in the cover of his new book, Sleepy Hollow.

Sometime later, he heard Bruce rapping on his bathroom door as he took a bath, "Hurry up it's time for breakfast!" he was yelling. Was he an idiot or just didn't understand an outside voice meant only using it Outside? He rolled his eyes, taking his time because, it felt good. It made him relax.

When he came downstairs for breakfast, Bruce was grinning. His parents had mentioned to him that they might adopt Edward, but that Bruce shouldn't tell Edward. They didn't want to get his hopes up or scare him. They didn't know if he wanted his old family, if he'd run away, if he was lost... It was better not to tell him yet....

So far, Bruce rather liked the idea of a little brother. He and Edward could play every day. He pushed a breakfast sandwich to Edward, "we're going out in my ATV today with some other guys," he grinned, "you're comin too!"

He gave him a look like, what if I don't want to? But... it would be a good idea to try to get along more with Bruce. If Bruce was on his side,... then he'd be adopted. If no one found out his name or that that picture was him, he'd be set for life.

Edward offered him a nod of confirmation, eating up his breakfast, then heading back upstairs to pick out some warmer clothes. Bruce was already dressed and waiting by the time Edward had found his own, new clothes.

"You take longer to get ready than Rachel!" Bruce complained, grabbing his arm and tugging him down the hallway. Edward had to run hard just to not fall down the stairs as they went. Thankfully, the butler stopped Bruce at the door, "Hats and gloves Young Master Bruce," he said sagely.

Jonathan let out an audibly relieved sigh, which made Alfred chuckle. So the boy did have an extent to how passive he could be before he let his exasperation show.

"Here you are Edward," he smiled, putting a knit cap on him. It was white and contrasted with his hair. It made him look adorable as it pushed his ears out a bit like a snow elf. "And here are some gloves. You have a new pair of boots too."

Jonathan glanced down to see a new pair right there for him... He sat down to inspect them, first checking the soles... they weren't worn through... and there were actual laces... He looked up, perplexed...

"Haven't you ever worn boots? Get them on and let's gooo!" Bruce whined.

Meanwhile, Alfred was a bit concerned. The boy was so baffled at the prospect of new boots... He knelt down and lifted one of Edward's feet to help. The boy visibly stiffened and jerked, like a deer about to be hit by a car. Alfred looked up, "Let me help you put them on young sir," he smiled. Edward seemed to relax, but only slightly. All the color seemed to have drained from his already pale face. Once he had finished, he helped the boy up and stepped back, bowing, "Have fun young sirs and don't be out past dark," he warned.

Bruce yanked Edward out the door so fast Scarecrow could be sure they'd left their stomach behind! They were now racing out through the snow towards Bruce's new ATV.

Bruce got onto the only seat and scooted forward, "Get on behind me and hang on or you'll fall off," he said seriously.

Jonathan, wary of motorized things that could easily run you over, hesitated. He'd one time played jacks on the driveway. His father hadn't bothered to check his mirrors, or maybe just didn't care, and had almost run him over. Thank God Scarecrow's reflexes were so fast! He'd forced Jonathan to lay down flat and just barely managed to avoid getting hit as the car drove clean over him. It had been quite terrifying!

Bruce rolled his eyes, waiting with what little patience he had. "I'm Waaaaaiting!" he huffed.

Slowly and unsurely, he walked over, gulping before he climbed on. He gasped as Bruce took off and he grabbed onto him for dear life, arms wrapping around him. Bruce giggled at the cool machine and zoomed off down to where he was meeting with a few other boys his age. They each had ATV's or snowmobiles which, Jonathan noted, were no where near as nice as Bruce's.

"Who's your friend?" asked a freckled boy.

"Hey Tony, this is Edward, he's stayin' with my family,'' Bruce answered proudly.

"Hey Edward, I'm Tony," he waved. "That's Alex," he pointed to a boy with wavy blond hair, "And that's Colby," he pointed to a kid who was taller than the bunch and had a ski cap on.

Edward gave them each a small nod. "He shy or somethin?" asked Tony. He had a choppy cut with dark brown hair and a New-York accent, having moved to Gotham not long ago.

"No, um, Edward doesn't really talk, but he's alright," Bruce explained. Edward glared at the back of Bruce's head. Scarecrow snickered, boys were so stupid... though girls were stupider... was that a word? Did it matter?

Edward looked around at them as the four boys decided to head up to then into the woods. It was more fun than the flat area around wayne manor's back yard, which was more than a few acres. They wanted to have fun in the trees.

Bruce laughed and sped off with his friends while Jonathan simply held on for dear life!

* * *

When they arrived to a fallen tree that they deemed worthy of becoming their fort, Jonathan and Alex were sent off to retrieve more branches to make the fort bigger while the other three began to assemble it.

"So that mime, why's he stayin at yer folks?" asked Tony.

Bruce smiled, "Well we found him, and he's been with us since. Mother and Father said they might adopt him. Won't that be cool?" he grinned, obviously excited.

Tony and Colby looked at each other then at Bruce with frowns, "Bruce," Tony said, "That's not really that cool.."

"Huh?" Bruce frowned.

"Well he's like, not rich like us, so he's more like a worker don't you think?"

"Well.."

"He's not one of us, your parents give money to poor people and stuff. All he is is um..." Tony struggled for a word.

"Charity," said Colby.

"Yeah, he's just charity, he's not like you and me. He doesn't know how to be rich and have manners and he won't go to Harvard or Yale," Tony stressed.

"Well maybe he doesn't know that stuff, but he's going to be my brother," Bruce said, "I'll watch out for him and teach him," he puffed out his chest.

"Well that's not that good either," chimed in Colby, "Once my parents had Susie everything became about her. It's not cool to have a brother or sister. Your parents won't love you the same," he said.

Bruce frowned, "yeah they will!"

Colby just shook his head, "Just wait 'till they start to take his side. He'll become their favorite."

Bruce frowned, giving them an angry look, "It won't happen," he declared, but the seed of jealousy was planted.

When the two boys arrived with more sticks, Bruce frowned a bit, but they all began to build the fort together. Once it was complete, they decided to play a game of hide and seek further in the woods. Of course, Colby was the first seeker, and Bruce told Edward to hide like they did at home. Edward was a very good hider.

He turned and went to go hide. Finding a nice spot that had twigs, he walked on it to not make any footprints in the snow that covered the ground. He then jumped along on a few rocks and hid beneath a bush.

Scarecrow smiled. His little Jonathan was quite the expert by now, and he laughed as Colby began to search the nearby woods for everyone. Colby caught Alex easily. The boy had left a clear footpath all the way to his hiding place. Tony was next to be found, for he had smartly thought of hiding up a tree, but he'd broken off a few branches on his way up, which were fairly obvious.

Bruce, who was getting better at hiding due to learning from Edward, was third to be found, having smartly hidden behind a rock. When Colby had come to peek around it, he'd maneuvered around the opposite way. They'd gone in a circle when Colby saw the second set of footprints and simply jumped Over the rock and tagged him.

By then, the four boys were a long ways off from Jonathan, and it was growing darker due to a snowstorm heading in.

"This is getting boring, the brat probably already headed back!" Colby frowned.

Tony agreed, "Yeah, I'm cold."

Bruce frowned. He wasn't sure if Edward would or not, but he remembered how he'd caught Edward a few times during a game reading in the living room instead of hiding. He'd had a bored look when Bruce complained. "You're right, he probably went back already, let's go."

The four boys got back on their machines and sped off. Jonathan, meanwhile, was wondering if he'd hid too good.... maybe the point of the game wasn't just to hide the best, but to Eventually get caught... Scarecrow huffed, "well that seems stupid...." Jonathan agreed with him, but... the boys had seemed to have fun even when caught, while Jonathan wasn't having any fun at all...

He frowned, rolling his eyes as he slowly got out from his hiding place and started to look for them. It was then that he heard the roar of the four engines and the snarl as they drove off through the snow. Jonathan stood still, listening as they headed further away. He was wide-eyed, shocked that they would just leave him. That wasn't funny at all! It was a really long walk back to the manor!

* * *

Alfred stood outside with the Master and Mrs., waiting for the boys. It was getting dark and colder by the minute. They relaxed as they saw the shadows of the lads returning. However, when they all pulled up, they each noticed immediately that the smallest of the group was not there.

"Where is Edward Bruce?" asked Mr. Wayne.

"We couldn't find him after playing hide n' seek," Tony answered.

Bruce nodded, "We thought he came back. He always quits games early like that," he huffed with annoyance.

"Bruce!" barked Thomas, "What would make you leave your friend behind like that?! Have you no sense at all?!" He was quite furious as he rushed off to go find the boy before the weather could get worse. The wind was already whipping through the city, growing colder by the moment. It howled unforgivably as Alfred led the boys inside.

Bruce felt shamed that his father was so mad, and that his mother and Alfred looked so disappointed. Alfred called the boys' parents to send them home while Martha looked out the grand windows out on the grounds for her husband and the boy.

* * *

Jonathan shivered. Why were the Wayne grounds so huge??? He couldn't see anything as the wind picked up and it began to snow so thickly that he could hardly see a few feet in front of him. The night became brighter now instead of darker, due to all of the snow. He couldn't tell if he was any nearer to the house, except that he had been walking away from the trees, which now too, were invisible. Scarecrow growled. Those stupid boys had left Jonathan outside because they were stupid and lazy... he might have to break their fingers or something to even the score... but... Jonathan had to get to warmth first.

The wind hurt his ears though he tried to listen. Icicles formed up his nose and hurt, his eyes stung. But Jonathan was a survivor. By the time Thomas came back up to the house unable to find him anywhere and coming back to ask them to call the police, he found Jonathan close to the manor, but walking parallel to it. He rushed over to him and wrapped his arms around him. Jonathan froze, or rather, already frozen simply stood still, at the touch. He looked up and relief hit his face. He turned around and tried to hide himself in Thomas' warmth.

Thomas unzipped his coat and brought the boy to his chest, then zipped it around him before turning around and trudging back up to the house.

Once inside, Jonathan was surrounded by many faces all at once. Alfred had hot cocoa for him, Martha wrapped him in warm blankets, pulling off his wet boots, coat and hat, and Bruce was saying he was sorry and apologizing over and over.

Jonathan just whimpered quietly, trying to hide in Thomas' arms. For everyone other than Bruce, it was pretty much the first noise they had heard from him, and it darn near broke their hearts. Bruce flinched as his father gave him a stern look that promised he was grounded for a Very Long Time....


	28. Slurpee

What the boys had said turned out to be true... The moment Edward was out of imminent danger, Mr. Wayne not only grounded Bruce, but gave him a stern talking to.

"But... but I didn't mean to leave him behind!" he reasoned, "We thought he came back!"

"Bruce, we never leave our friends behind," he frowned.

"But I swear-" Bruce quickly protested. They really had thought he had come home, though they hadn't really bothered to make it clear that they were leaving if he didn't come out...

"Tell me what happened."

"I - we went out and built a fort, then we decided to play hide-and-seek. Everybody got found except for Edward..."

"Bruce," Thomas looked at him with disappointment. "How long did you look for him? Did you keep an eye on him?"

".." he looked down in shame, "not very long... I'm sorry..." he said, shuffling his feet.

Mr. Wayne looked at him and saw his regret, "And why are you sorry Bruce? Because I am disappointed? Because you're in trouble? Or because you mistreated a friend?"

"..." he bowed his head, and Mr. Wayne knew Bruce finally understood.

"Alright Bruce, no more ATV untill after New Years, and the boys may not visit for a week."

Bruce sighed, upset that his dad took Edward's side right away, just like his friends had said. Would having a little brother be the fun he had thought it would be? or... no...?

* * *

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Jonathan was sniffling as he drank his cocoa. Now, of course it was sniffles from a runny nose, and deeeeefinately not because he wanted to cry. Absolutely not. If he cried over something as silly as being left behind by his to-be-big-brother, well, then he'd have to be pretty pathetic. He'd gone through worse. So much worse.

He prodded a marshmallow with his spoon, sniffing his snot back up, trying not to let people hear him. It was not dignified... Besides, if he dribbled snot on his nice clothes or on the table, they might stop being so nice to him. What if they hit him? Would Mr. Wayne take away his nice new boots? He drew the blanket on his shoulders closer, more out of fear of losing it than of being cold.

Unbeknownst to him, the butler was observing his silent struggle. Alfred could tell the child must have been scared, but since returning, he had shown no signs of his distress. It wasn't normal for a child his age. He ought to be crying or scared, holding onto someone for comfort, asking for things he didn't normally get to have, like cupcakes or cookies...

But Edward wasn't normal. He sat there, trying to hide his runny nose and ignoring the world around him... He looked at the cocoa like it was some miracle.

"Edward? Would you like a tissue?" the butler finally asked, unable to bear watching the child suffer longer.

However, Edward jumped, brought out of his thoughts. He nodded, accepting the tissue that was handed over. "It's okay to cry, if you need to, Edward," he added.

Jonathan frowned only slightly, expression stony and blank. Edward had no more tears he could shed. This was nothing anyways... Nothing compared to the horrors he had suffered. Bruce and the other boys were just immature... He shook his head no and tried to ignore being under the man's gaze.

Scarecrow whispered tender things to him, to keep him calm. This wasn't that bad... and they still needed to get Bruce on their side... If they lived here, Jonathan could go to schools with the finest supplies, have food and clothes, and possibly a family that liked him... They had to achieve this goal.

Jonathan had faith in Scarecrow's plan. He Could find happiness with these people. He Could and he Would, because other, less deserving people had happiness, so why couldn't he?

He'd seen Bruce's toys and gifts and his room. So far, he didn't see anything at ALL that Bruce had done to deserve such nice things and such a nice family. All Bruce had to do was breathe and smile, and he got so much.

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to remember the last time he had smiled at his family. He'd tried to smile when he was allowed to have some slightly old and nearly tasteless cake that his mom had from a party the previous week. She'd just scoffed and told him she was about to throw it away anyways. He'd tried to smile at his father when he'd walked in on his father laughing at his coworker's joke, but that had made the visit that night so terrifying and humiliating that he never attempted to so much as look at the man of his own free will again. He'd tried to smile at his sister...-

He jumped again as a hand landed on his shoulder, and he dropped his cocoa on the floor. He inhaled a quick gasp. He'd been so deep in thoughts that he didn't see Mr. Wayne come in, much less realize that he was about to be touched. Edward jumped down to the floor, trying to clean up the now shattered glass.

"Edward, It's alright, Alfred will take care of it." In fact, Alfred was already on his way over with a brush, dustbin, and paper towels.

Jonathan let himself be pulled away from the mess, knowing deep down he was about to be backhanded once they were alone. He'd shattered the cup... he deserved it.

Thomas sighed, this child was so afraid of making himself a nuisance... it was unnatural. He took Jonathan to his office where he sat the boy on a comfy chair and then took the seat across from him, "Edward. I'm sorry about what happened. Bruce and the boys know better. They should have made sure you were safe."

Jonathan's lips parted in shock. He wasn't being yelled at about the cocoa?

"Now... I know you're nervous... but we care about you Edward... so, don't be afraid to just be yourself around here. And maybe soon, you can begin to talk to us. You can tell us anything okay?" he was trying to reassure him, but Scarecrow only saw eyes prying where they shouldn't be. Edward's eyes narrowed suspiciously, a look that was not lost on the doctor.

"Edward... It's okay, really. I won't force you to tell us anything, but there are rules, laws, things in the adult world that you don't understand. We can only help you so much with yes's and no's from you. If you can find the strength to speak, and tell us what you remember, we can help you better..." He tried to explain.

Edward was looking away from him now.

"Can I ask you some questions? It might help us... because, we, want to keep you here... if you want to that is..." he said.

Jonathan blinked, looking at him. He'd heard them talking before, but... he could hardly believe his ears. Thomas was telling him, here and now, that they wanted him...

"Do you want to stay here?" Thomas asked, now that he had the boy's attention.

Jonathan swallowed hard, attempting to not look at him, but it was hard. A very large carrot was being dangled in front of him and he wanted it. He finally gave one small nod.

Thomas smiled brightly, feeling like he had made a breakthrough. "I'm glad of that Edward," he smiled and sat back more comfortably. "Edward. I want to ask you a few more questions..." He said softly as not to ruin the step forward they had made. Jonathan reluctantly gave a nod.

"Okay. Do you remember how you wound up in the river?" he asked.

Edward frowned, trying to think. How HAD they wound up in the river? He hadn't thought much about it since getting here. He'd had more important things to think about. Now, looking back, he wasn't sure how it had happened. He'd run... run away from the gruesome scene within his home. He winced, thinking of it. How Scarecrow had helped him, given him strength he never knew he had... how they had run and it got cold... how he had snuck on the first train out of town. Being small, it was simple... He remembered being hungry... stealing a sandwich, and running from the man who called him theif. He remembered the snow, and the ice, and the water. He remembered its strength as it swept him off his feet. He remembered the man leaving him to the mercy of the cold river.

"Edward?" Thomas asked with concern. The boy sure could withdraw into himself...

He blinked rapidly as he sort of came back and looked up at him.

"I asked, do you remember how you ended up almost drowning...?"

Edward shrugged.

"Can you tell me?"

No. He shook his head negatively.

"Do you remember anything before you fell in?"

He shook his head no again. He was used to lying. He was used to it, even if he wished he could be truthful to someone for once. But Thomas had said it himself. There were rules in the adult world that Mr. Wayne would have to follow. If he found out to much, he would have to act on his knowledge to follow the laws.

"You don't remember if you had parents? A family? Your name?" he asked. Anything could help them get the poor boy back where he belonged, or, to stay with them.

Edward covered his ears and closed his eyes. He didn't like to be pressed. He didn't want to answer. If he answered he was sure to get in trouble. They would find out who killed his family. He would go to the place bad people were sent. The place he wished his family had been sent. But he had learned long ago, that not all bad people were punished, and not everyone in jail was bad.

Mr. Wayne dropped it and came to his side, laying a hand on his shoulder. Edward unconsciously leaned away from him, nervous of adult male hands. They usually hit or ... did other uncomfortable or hurtful things. If he wasn't sort of used to Thomas Wayne, he would have gouged his eyes out for touching him.

"It's alright Edward. It's okay. My family and I are here for you okay? You don't have to be afraid anymore, so lift up that chin," he smiled.

The lad looked up at him. "Hold your head up high. You're a smart, and kind child. You have nothing to be afraid or ashamed of. So be proud of yourself," he said. "Keep your chin up, no matter what happens. Don't let anyone take away your self respect, alright?" he smiled.

Jonathan's lips twitched, as if he might smile. He lifted his chin, hesitantly, then held it up, just like Wayne. When Thomas smiled more, Jonathan perked it up like he was a proud man. This was a lesson Jonathan never forgot. People can't take away your pride if you hold your chin up high. Some said he was being cocky... and maybe he was, but he wouldn't let people force him to look down at his feet for the rest of his life.

* * *

Bruce slowly shook Jonathan's shoulder,... with a broomstick of course! He was smart enough at this point to know that it was not only dangerous to be anywhere close to a sleeping Crane, but also terrified the Doctor. He had to learn how to deal with the insane man in as civil a manner as he could manage if he was ever going to figure out just what to do with the man. Already, in the short amount of time since he had dragged "Edward Pierce" here from that charity event, Bruce had broken more of his own rules and moral codes than a teenager could say the word "like" in one sentence.

Now how exactly he had come to the conclusion that poking the sleeping bird with a long wooden broom was by any means civil was beyond anyone, but so he did. And not to anyone's surprise, the reaction was a violent one.

Scarecrow snapped awake at the hard prodding and grabbed the offending instrument, ripping the broom from Bruce's hands with surprising strength, and even without his glasses, managed to find the closest wall, where he proceeded to smash the broom to tiny pieces. He very much disliked that broom, yes indeed. But he did manage to salvage some of the straw from the bristles, smiling a bit at the familiarity of the material.

Bruce sighed as the entirety of the broom was destroyed in scarecrow's fit of rage. "Are you done yet?" he said with wavering patience. He may be trying to control his temper, but he wasn't about to sit here for the next 5 hours until Scarecrow successfully reduced the broom to toothpicks.

Startlingly cold eyes turned upon Bruce in the dark cell, zeroing in on him even without the aid of glasses. Those eyes could speak volumes, in fact they could overflow the grandest of libraries with all they had seen and could tell, and yet they were so very guarded. Bruce wondered how he got such eyes... such awful, hateful, sad, and beautiful eyes.

Scarecrow sneered at Bruce, throwing a fistful of broom shards in his general direction just to give him a hint as to how ungodly pissed off he was right now, and how he would rip Bruce limb from limb the moment he could see and stand up properly. "Done? You'll find my work here won't be done till I see your spine used as a cane for your dear old butler, and the rest of you used to paint this godforsaken room red!" he hissed with malice.

Bruce frowned. That was quite the angry statement, and however mad he was, Jonathan wasn't one for gore. He was clean, his murders due to toxin were the epitome of clean. There was no blood unless the injuries were inflicted by the victim. But this Scarecrow... he promised bloody violence and retribution every chance he got. Was that what Jonathan really wanted deep down?

"Do you really want that Jonathan?" he asked, deciding to try questioning him, though knowing full well the likelihood of receiving a clear, direct, and sane answer was next to none.

"Jonathan is taking a nap, come back later," he said, seemingly, doing a 180 in attitude, lounging back against the wall and looking at nothing in particular.

He rolled his eyes. This whole, 'Dr. Crane's not in right now, can I take a message?' routine was getting old fast and he was tired of dealing with Jonathan's bullshit. "Jonathan, I'm being serious, I need to talk to you." Scarecrow rolled his eyes and proceeded to poke Jonathan awake, which irritated the Doctor, who had been trying to rest, despite the cold and his aching head and split lip. He glared at Bruce, his eye twitching.

"Are you implying that you wish to flap your lips and vibrate your larynx to create sounds that form words which I am to somehow understand and communicate back with in a similar fashion - OR - are you saying you want to hurt my ears with your nicotine growls and make your argument with your fists?" He had a slight smirk on his face, his chin lifted in a cocky, self-confident, and mocking manner.

Bruce was quite flabbergasted by the rather long question. Not only did Jonathan actually respond, but he had sounded relatively ... coherent and almost sane, which was hopefully a good thing. He hated trying to speak to Jonathan when he was delusional, hysterical, or downright paranoid.

"Well Mr. _Desmodus rotundus_?" He sneered.

Bruce blinked, "Huh?"

Jonathan growled. Was he serious? "Really BATMaaaaan" he drawled, "you cannot possibly expect me to even give you the slightest amount of respect when you do not even know the scientific name for your own species."

"You mean HomoSapien?" Bruce frowned.

"No you incompetent vagabond. Although the Homo part is probably an accurate description considering recent events-" Bruce growled angryily, cutting Jonathan off before he could finish.

Jonathan snickered slightly, then continued, "_Desmodus rotundus._ Better known as a particular kind of BAT. One which sucks the life juices out of its prey. The common vampire bat."

"I'm not a vampire bat!" he raised his hands up.

"You sure? Because the amount of blood you've managed to force from me would suggest otherwise, Slurpee."

Bruce's eye twitched, "Enough."

"Enough what?"

"Enough with the name-play, I need to have a serious talk with you."

"Ohhhh serious talk? Hmmm I'm not so sure I have the time. I could maybe pencil you in. How does, before I pass out from hypothermia, but just after I contemplate seven more creative ways to kill you sound?"

"Jonathan.." Bruce warned, pinching the bridge of his nose to fight off his impending head ache. "I'm being serious here... will you stop?"

"Oh yes Seeerious. Your face is very very serious. I'm not sure if I'm the right therapist for you though... have you been to Arkham lately? I'm quite certain there's a very serious man there who can assist you. A very serious man indeed, tends to wear clown make-up, just to show you how utterly Seeerrrious he is-"

"Shut up already Jonathan!" Bruce snapped, patience stretching thin as a spider's thread.

"Shut up? But I thought you wanted to have a ssssssseeeeerious talk? Or were you wanting to discuss the cirrus clouds? Is it going to rain?" He went off on a tangent, looking up, "I cannot tell in the slightest. I see less sky here than in that hell-hole of an asylum!" he let out a chilly laugh.

"... There you go again..." Bruce shook his head.

"There I go what? In case you haven't noticed, my goings have been quite limited to this postage stamp of a living space, if you can call it even livable."

"If you didn't act like a crazy per-"

"DON'T call me CRAZY!" he pointed at him, "Because you don't know the first thing about it!" he yelled.

"Then tell me about it Jonathan. I can't help you if you don't help me. I need some answers here Jonathan, because like it or not, my hands are tied. I can't keep you here forever and I don't want to. But I have limited options to chose from. Do you WANT to go back to Arkham?"

"Fuck you!" Jonathan hissed, backing away from him, "If anyone's crazy here its YOU anyways!" he shouted, slumping into the corner.

Bruce growled at him, quickly moving forward, but stopped as Jonathan cried out and flinched away from his dark form. He sobbed, batting away at the air, eyes widening, as his hysteria triggered a bout of panic, hallucinations swirling in front of him, tendrils of darkness trying to wrap around him as flapping wings swirled the air. His breathing was starting to mount quickly and he choked.

Bruce approached him, and Jonathan cowered, arms above his head protectively. Bruce slipped down to his knees and slipped a pair of new glasses onto the boy's face.

Jonathan flinched, then blinked, his world swirling into focus. He looked up at Bruce who had an expectant look on his face. "W-what!" he barked, hallucinations falling away out of his shock and sudden ability to see.

Bruce raised a brow at his outburst. "What what?"

Jonathan hissed, "What do you want! Don't give me glasses just so you can break them later! What are you playing at! Get away from me and leave me alone!" he gasped, nursing one of his many wounds, cradling himself in his own arms, body in so much pain.

"Jonathan... I rescued you from the hospital so that you wouldn't cause more injury to yourself.. and so Joker can't harm you further..."

"That's a Lie!" he hissed.

"And why would I lie about that?"

"I don't know what you're after but I trusted you! When we... when... I believed you wanted to help me but you took me back! You abandoned me there! You knew what would happen!"

"I did not! Jonathan you used to work there. It's for the criminally insane. They're there to help people."

"That just shows how naive you really are! Did you think they would lay me back in a chair and ask me about mommy and daddy and I would break down and everything would turn to star shine and lemon drops? You're an imbecile!"

Bruce just sighed, "Jonathan, I want to help you. Whether you believe me or not, is up to you. But I can't help you while you're sitting there, shaking from withdrawal. I need you to write down what drugs work best to help balance yourself from the effects of your toxin..." He set a paper and blue crayon on the floor beside the shaking bird.

Jonathan looked down at the crayon. 'Non-toxic' it said on the side. Wow... He hadn't been given a pencil or pen which could be used as a weapon... and instead, given a crayon... one that he couldn't use to harm himself or anyone with... What was this, kindergarten?

Jonathan glared at him, then at the crayon. He growled but he really would like for the constant flapping of wings and shrieks of the death call to be put to a minimum... He consulted with Scarecrow for a moment, and glared up at Bruce, trying to see if this was some sort of trick. "If I ... tell you what to get... I want to be moved back... back up to the bedroom..."

"Done." Bruce said quickly.

"I'll break your nose if you're lying to me... try to get through your dinner party with a smashed face..." he warned.

Bruce nodded, "you have my word."

"Your word is shit..." he hissed, but wrote quickly on the paper, his hand shaking. He feared what would happen for consenting... but... he really Really REALLY wanted the birds to go away...

Bruce picked up the paper and quickly left. Jonathan curled up in his corner, hoping he didn't just make a huge mistake...

Bruce glanced back at him through the doorway, "Can I get you anything else...?"

"Yeah, a cherry slurpee," he shot back at Bruce, his eyes wild, fearful, and... almost playful.

* * *

I am so sorry for the long wait... my most beloved precious dog died some time after the last chapter and I wasn't right for a long time. Then with everything else in my busy life, I just didn't have time to continue. I will try to update again within a week or two. I love you my beloved readers!


	29. Real Name

To say that Bruce was surprised by the odd request for a Slurpee would be a lie. He was shocked less and less by the bird's crazy antics and whims, but really? A slurpee?

As he drove off to obtain the requested item, he pondered the request until, as he was crossing through an alley, he recalled what the other had mentioned about the vampire bat. They were sometimes, fondly called, Slurpees... He had to pull over as he snorted and began to laugh. That damned Doctor had a humor underneath all of that ice? Holy Crow!

He held a hand over his mouth as he had a good long snicker. If the man could joke still, then maybe there was hope for him yet, that he could be brought out of his insanity.

When he was certain that he could drive without breaking into another fit of laughter, he continued to make his way to a gas station that would have such an item. Alfred was helping to obtain the required medications through a few obscure sources, so he was listening to the police scanner while off to get the beverage. Being that it was only 11:37am it was still far too early for Batman work and he had a meeting to attend at 3pm. He figured that left enough time for him to find a cherry slurpee, present it to his 'guest', along with maybe some more blankets, and then get dressed for the meeting. Once he obtained the medications, he would move the Doctor back up to the room... hopefully, he could barter some participation and cooperation from Crane by giving him these things... yeah it was a long shot, but he was known for being hopelessly optimistic.

He prayed that right now, Crane wasn't devising some clever means of escape, or as mentioned earlier, thinking up 7 clever ways to kill Bruce in some painful, perhaps humiliating way. He wondered to himself, what DID Jonathan think about all day? While Bruce thought of his double life, how to take down criminals, how to save Gotham, and which girl to flirt with or perhaps bed with for the evening for the sake of his image and libido, Crane was clearly not interested in these things. More clearly, Crane had few personal items at all in his old apartment. Was Jonathan married to his work? Was that all he thought about when he worked at the asylum? How did he meet Raz al Ghul? Why was he the way he was! Who was Edward really? He shook his head.

"Dammit..." he muttered. He was too busy for this! He also thought about that damned clown. What would he say if he knew the great Batman was running around Gotham running errands for Dr. Crane? He would probably laugh his ass silly, not that he didn't do that on a regular basis... He growled. Who cared what that jackal thought? He'd almost killed Jonathan! That alone, not to mention killing Rachel and ruining Harvey Dent put the Joker on his naughty list. He sure as hell would never buy that waste of humanity an apology gift.

(somewhere in the bowels of Arkham a certain someone sneezed)

* * *

Meanwhile, Jonathan was indeed thinking of creative ways to kill, get even with, put out of commission, or simply escape the Batman. He was no fool. This whole situation was bad. He had expected to be cared for under the Raz al Ghul regime. He'd never thought the Batman of all people would arrize, let alone kill, or rather 'not save' Raz in the end. What a loss that had been...

Everything had gone south from the point that he had been gassed on. Now, maaaaaaaaaybe lighting the Batman on fire hadn't been the best solution at that time... but it had been highly entertaining. He ought to have just had his croonies shoot the fucking rodent and been done with it but nooooo, Scarecrow just had to have his fun. He sighed. If he'd simply killed him then, things would have turned out so differently...

'_No use reprimanding yourself now little bird,... hindsight is 20/20 afterall_,' Scarecrow offered, stroking Jonathan's mind softly to end such useless thoughts.

"Indeed..." he said out loud and lay back against the hard floor. His body was only feeling more sore by the minute. How he was expected to recover from the clown's attack on a hard cold floor he would never understand. Was Bruce truly an idiot? No, that man had to be borderline genius... so why the hell was he in a cold cell with no bed or blankets? Even jails had better conditions!

He scoffed at the injustice of it all. And there was no way he was really going to play nice with the bastard rodent. After what he had endured, he couldn't forgive him. He had thought that perhaps Bruce could care, right before he was knocked out and taken back to Arkham. If it weren't for Bat-mannn... he would never have encountered the clown, and be in his current state.

Speaking of clown... he planned to get even with that bastard, mother-fucker too. He wasn't quite sure yet what he would do. He knew it involved a lot of fear gas and a room with sharp objects...

He looked down at his body, wondering what he really looked like right now. He suspected that he looked awful, more pitiful than ever. He recalled how his face had looked in the hospital room. His hand darted up to feel his mouth and cheeks to see if the scratches were healing at all. He didn't want to walk around with a near-joker-like grin for the rest of his life. They were still raised and irritated. He whimpered, hoping that they didn't scar. This was a scar he couldn't hide as well as his others. Makeup worked well to cover any other visible scars he carried, such as those on his hands. Others were hidden under his clothes. But these screamed "JOKER WAS HERE!" and it pissed him off as well as frightened him.

Further, he had revealed to Bruce a few of the medications that would help get rid of some of the hallucinations, which gave the Batman yet another tool against him. What would he do with this information? What could he learn from it? He was beginning to regret his compliance.

'_Then why did you give in to his requests Jonathan?' _came his companion's voice.

'Shut up I don't have the patience for this right now...' Jonathan thought back, curling up. He loved Scarecrow, but he didn't want to be lectured right now... But low and behold, voices in people's heads didn't shut up just because they were asked to.

'_Oh dear Johnny baby, he won't find out a thing from what you told him. Just take the medicine and then, while his guard is down when we're up in that room, we escape.'_

'Oh yes, and how, pray tell, do we pull that off?' he asked sardonically.

'_Use your feminine wiles to seduce him of course,' _he half joked, but was also half serious, '_Fool him into believing you're harmless, or interested in sex, then we strike. It will be just as he fooled you into thinking he cared.'_

'He-he never fooled me!'

'_Oh, so you knowingly gave into his lust that night, with full knowledge that he would betray you?'_

'... no... I thought... I don't want to discuss this...'

'_Yes you do,'_ Scarecrow smirked, causing Jonathan's lips to twitch, "No I don't..." Jonathan said out loud, rolling over, and curling up to try to get comfortable, but things hurt, no matter how he lay on the hard floor.

_'I'm sorry, my dear bird... I won't let him hurt you any more...' _Scarecrow said, becoming serious. '_Either of them...'_

Jonathan nodded, then groaned. He didn't blame Scarecrow; No, it was all Bat-man's fault... all Bruce's fault... he shouldn't have ever trusted that spoiled little fool...

* * *

Edward knew he needed to speak with Bruce soon, to get him on his side. It was clear that the adults wanted him to stay, but he had gotten Bruce in trouble, which was never a good way to get someone to like you. He sighed, as they ate at the dinner table. Bruce was quietly suffering his grounding, which included no friends and no ATV and no desert either.

Edward glanced up at him, and when the adults had left the table, he pushed his cobbler across the table to Bruce, who looked up with confusion. Edward liked the cobbler, but he'd much rather guarantee his stay here, and if it meant sacrificing his heavenly cherry cobbler, then so be it. Bruce looked at it, and then took half, pushing the rest back to Edward, who actually sort of smiled. Bruce returned the smile and began to dig in.

The two quietly ate their cobbler, glancing at each other now and then over the silence, which was growing.

"I'm Sorry!"

"s-sorry..."

They both blinked at each other. Edward turned pink as Bruce suddenly grinned widely. "You DO talk," he smirked. Edward flushed more and went back to eating his cobbler. He really really liked cherries... "Why are YOU sorry?" Bruce asked, egging him on.

Edward looked at him, then down again and took another bite. He blushed from embarrassment. He should have stayed quiet... Bruce leaned over the table and took a bite out of what Edward had left. Edward squeaked indignantly, grabbing at Bruce's fork and trying to eat it. The action resulted in the pair of them accidentally touching mouths in the battle over the cobbler. Edward let go, and Bruce triumphantly ate the bite, then blinked as he saw Edward duck down and steal what he'd given Bruce.

Bruce then laughed, "okay okay... um... so... I'm sorry that we left you out there... I honestly didn't know you were still there... You never like to play... so we figured you went back inside... I mean... it's fun to play hide and seek, but you're eventually supposed to come out... it's no fun if you never get found... Anyway... sorry..."

Edward nodded, then let him have the desert back. Bruce smirked and sat back down, "So why ARE you sorry?"

"..." he paused and looked up. "That you were punished..." he said so quietly it was hard to hear. "It's my fault for not coming out... I just wanted you and your friends to like me..." He didn't want to talk, but, what better way to gain Bruce's friendship and trust than to let him be the only one to know he spoke? Bruce was bound to become his friend...

Bruce's jaw was on the table. He'd never expected to hear a whole little speech... and his voice... it was so weak, and small, and really pretty... He swallowed at the weird feeling he got from hearing it and then took a bite of desert. "I DO like yo-"

"No you don't... you only tease me, and play weird games, and I know you're laughing at me... but I want you to really like me... I like You..." he said earnestly. He couldn't hold back or be subtle. Bruce could be a bit dim sometimes, so he figured being blunt was the best approach.

Bruce was again, struck by the boy's words and his voice. His lips flapped a bit as he tried to come up with something to say. "My friends said you're not like us... that... you're going to ruin everything.." he sighed, "That my parents will stop loving me as much, and pay more attention to you.."

"I don't want that! Bruce... I want to be friends... I want to be your brother... will you let me? I promise I'll play with you... I'll play whatever games you want..."

Bruce frowned a bit, assessing him, then lightened up, "Anything? Even Cops and Robbers?"

He nodded slowly.

Bruce seemed to cheer up and got up, taking his wrist and pulling him out of the room, "M-m-my cobbler!" the smaller of the two protested.

"You can have more later, come play with me!" Bruce laughed.

Edward rolled his eyes, but he supposed this was a good sign. He wiped his lips clean and licked the cherry sauce from his lips.

* * *

Jonathan flinched awake as he heard the cell door opening. "B-b-b-bout t-t-time," he said, stuttering from the cold as Bruce came in.

"You have no idea how hard it is to find a gas station with a _working_ Cherry Slushee machine..." Bruce frowned.

Jonathan snorted, "D-d-d'you really th-think I want a f-f-frozen beverage right now?" his voice cracked.

Bruce looked at the Slushee in his hand and then frowned, setting it back on a table in the cave and looking back at Crane. He left the door open, for there really wasn't much Crane could do to escape or hurt Bruce in his current state. Jonathan was very slowly limping into the doorway and looking out around the room, lips trembling.

Bruce pointed to the examination table he had brought in. Crane looked at it and frowned. "I need to put a brace on your wrist, so just sit alright?"

"How about you take your brace and shove i-" He began then paled when Bruce tossed him a heavy object and out of instinct, Jonathan tried to catch it, which in effect made his wrist pang with pain and he wound up dropping it.

Bruce waited as Jonathan glared at the heavy training ball and then looked up at Bruce and frowned, "Fine, point taken..." he said, limping to the table and trying to get on it. Bruce came up and placed his hands on Jonathan's hips, lifting him onto the table, enduring the slap across the face he got for touching Jonathan.

Bruce frowned, but took Jonathan's wrist and began to put it in a splint to keep him from further damaging it. Once complete, he looked at Jonathan closely, examining his bandaged side where he'd been stabbed.

Jonathan really hated all of this prodding and poking, but he supposed it was necessary if he didn't want to wake up dead... haha... ha... 'Shut up Scarecrow,' he growled in his head.

Once the irritating exam was complete, Bruce placed a robe on Jonathan's shoulders and picked him up.

"If you value your life put me down this instant!" Jonathan hissed. How DARE Bruce act like it was okay to touch him, or that Jonathan would accept it after all that had happened!

"Do you Really want to walk all the way to your room?"

"..."

"I'll put you down the moment we get there, so just cool your jets."

"What Are you, forty?"

"What?"

" 'Cool your jets'?" he cocked a brow and smirked.

"What about it?"

"It's no small wonder people don't know you're the Bat. Who'd guess a guy with absolutely no morals, a loose cock, and idiotic phrases like that could possibly be the 'Savior of Gotham'?"

Bruce grit his teeth, promising himself he wouldn't punch Jonathan in the face. 'I will not punch him I will not punch him I will not punch him...'

Jonathan snickered, "You look ready to punch me..."

"You have NO idea..." he growled, taking the elevator to the upper levels, then walking along an extravagant hallway. He had picked a new room for his 'guest', which had no sharp objects and no room underneath the bed for him to crawl into. "I have a meeting to attend tonight. Food is on the tray there on the bedside table," he pointed to it. The meal was fish sticks and some vegetables and fruit... finger food. Jonathan suppressed an angry growl, because food of any sort sounded good right now, even if they were insulting.

He made a quick move for the food. Revenge could wait. He supposed, gaining feeling back in his fingers and filling his empty stomach were two very good steps that ought to come before revenge. Fighting Bruce on his best of days would be hard enough, let alone when he was undernourished and injured.

Bruce took this all as a good sign and moved for the door. "Remember to behave, I'll have your medication soon." He said, setting down the Cherry Slurpee on a small coffee table next to a reading chair. He then opened the door, and pointed up to a clock, "I'll be back after six."

"Like I care," came a steely response between chewing sounds.

"Right..." Bruce said and left, locking the door. Jonathan wondered if he ought to begin searching for an escape route yet, but Scarecrow advised him to wait.

'_Remember, take it slow, win his trust, crush his trust. 'Behave' as he wishes, for the night... we'll have our way, don't worry.'_

He sighed and nodded to himself, going back to his not-so-bad fish sticks. He wondered, vaguely, when Alfred had obtained such a childish dish for him, when he was certain Bruce was accustomed to much fancier meals. Surely it must mean the butler had had to shop with Jonathan in mind... He frowned. Fucking old man... he wished he could hate that guy, so he could take him down without hesitation if the time came for it... but he always remembered the way he'd been treated by him, as that little mute boy...

* * *

Edward smiled.

Things were going according to plan. Bruce seemed to be accepting him more, little by little. Not to mention, the whole Wayne family seemed to be taken with him. Mrs. Wayne would let him lick the spoon when she made morning muffins, Mr. Wayne would let him read quietly in the library, and the butler would help him with his shoes and slip him a hard toffee now and then. The weather may be getting colder and the snow thicker, but the atmosphere in Wayne manor was warm and toasty.

Scarecrow seemed pleased that Jonathan was being cared for properly, so much that he didn't even have to butt in much. Jonathan was doing well.

Now if only Bruce had stayed out of Edward's bedroom...

Bruce hadn't meant to snoop. He'd come running into Edward's room this morning, quite excited, and Edward had quickly shoved something out of sight. It was odd, but at the moment, Bruce wanted to get Edward to make snowmen with him. Afterwards, Edward had wanted to clean up before the next game Bruce wanted to play. So, as Edward took a bath, by himself, Bruce sat on Edward's bed, impatiently kicking his feet back and forth. He mostly was minding his own business when he glanced down and saw something curious, a bit of newspaper sticking out from under the mattress. It was then that he remembered Edward's strange behavior from earlier.

He glanced at the bathroom door and then at the paper. To peek or not to peek...?

Bruce pulled it out of course, and blinked when he saw the picture of a boy on the paper that, if he looked really carefully... might kinda look like Edward...

Jonathan gasped as he stood in the doorway of his little bathroom and stared. Bruce looked at him, "Ah- I'm sorry... I didn't mean to snoop... but... is this you?" he asked, pointing.

Jonathan frowned, anger crossing his face. But then he stopped and thought a moment... maybe he could turn this around, "I... yes... but Bruce, can we make a promise? Promise not to tell? I don't want to go back... they'll take me away if you tell anyone... please Bruce?" he asked, coming right up to him, wrapped only in a towel and hair still wet, he didn't care if he had to beg on his knees, "I'll do anything.." he told him, hands clasped.

Bruce looked sadly at him, "Why don't you want anyone to know? Why don't you want to go back?"

"B-because I don't have a h-home to go to. Something bad happened there Bruce, please, don't make me go back?" he asked piteously. "I want to stay here and be your brother."

He may be laying it on rather thick, but this was what had to be done.

Bruce frowned, looking at the picture, "What's your real name?"

"Will you promise not to tell? Anyone? It will be our secret?" he urged.

Bruce gave a nod.

"It says my name... right there..." he pointed to the picture.

"... Jonathan..." Bruce said, then smiled.

Said boy gave an encouraging smile, and hoped his 'friend' would be a real good one, and keep the one secret he needed to keep hidden. Everything counted on Bruce never telling. He had to trust Bruce. He moved in and hugged Bruce, who gasped, and then hugged back, "I won't tell anyone..."

He would protect his friend, his little brother. He swore it. "So... what happened?"

"I don't ... I don't want to tell anyone r-right now.." he said, taking the paper away from Bruce and folding it up, then putting it into his copy of Sleepy Hollow.

"Why? Did you run away from home?" Bruce asked. He knew a kid who ran away one time. He hid at the park until it started to rain, and then ran back home and crawled in through his window. His parents had left supper on a tray in his room. Though supper was cold by then they'd known he would be back, so he never tried again.

"Sort of.. but it's... different," he said quietly, looking at him, "Can we, go play?" he wanted to change the subject.

Bruce grinned and pulled him out of the room. Jonathan HAD said he would do ANYTHING!

* * *

Chapter end! Woot! How was it? D: Please fav and review! I get a lot of useful advice from your comments!


	30. Hallucinations and the Second Bird Bath

Sorry for the long wait! It's senior year of college and I'm so busy it's terrifying!

* * *

Jonathan and Scarecrow had agreed to playing friendly with Bruce, however, as the night wore on, and the sun made it's journey across the sky and began to fade, he knew something was wrong.

It started off when he first sat down to eat and began to think of ways to gain Bruce's trust before crushing him under-foot. As he lifted a fish stick to his waiting lips, it seemed to wiggle... He shook his head and looked at it, chalking it up to too much time in a cold dark cave without glasses...

Taking the bite, he continued plotting for another hour when he noticed that the heat pumped into the room by the vents sounded ... odd... a sound that made him shiver. It would kick on for about five minutes, and shut down for about fifteen... He chalked That up to having spent too much time listening to running and dripping water in the cave, and bats squeaking and rustling.

Why these things in the light were bothering him, he didn't want to think on. Fear in the cave had been natural... Here... he felt a growing sense of worry that things were not as they should be. Alfred retreived his tray of food about an hour after Bruce left, careful of Crane. However, he had a look on his face that the Doctor couldn't quite place. Worry maybe? But worry over what?

When about four pm hit, he was very certain that this night was about to get bad. He was shaking his head sporadically every few moments as if to ward off images, shadows darting about the room. The tree outside the window danced in the cold, whistling wind. The sky had long since lost its warm glow as a cold front moved in and blanketed the sky in dim grey. The brances, like a spindly witch's hands, scratched at the glass and made his skin crawl. The wind, calling through to him like a ready kettle recalled too many memories. As rain began to plip plip plip against the glass he shut his eyes and covered his head with a pillow, trying to hide. Things were not going well at all.

Six o'clock had to have come and passed, for Jonathan was counting the time by the periodic kicking in of the heat. Where was that good-for-nothing Bruce? For by now, it was clear to him that withdrawal from the cornucopia of mismatched medications was beginning to kick in, and though most had been the wrong thing, they had at least kept him so doped up his mind could hardly form a cohesive thought, much less hallucinate under the long-lasting effects of his toxin.

How could he tell it was withdrawal? Well, by the full blown hallucinations he was now experiencing on top of what he was quite sure was a high fever. His voice cracked as he called out for help, but it was so soft, he could hardly have been heard. What with the thick stone walls, high arched ceilings, rain, and wind, how could the old butler hope to hear the pleas of a deranged house guest?

By eight, he could no longer hope to think about his plans. In fact, even Scarecrow could not get through to Jonathan's tortured mind now. As the rain picked up and pounded on the roof, it was like the many fists that had hurt him through his life. The wind was like the sound of a murder of crows aiming to maim him for some crime he could never understand. The shadows all aimed to choke him, and drag him to hell, for how could God love him? He was a forsaken child, evil as the parents who created him, and the woman who had foreseen his development into a monstrous, miserable, tortured youth. The demons were coming to drag him down. _"You're a dirty sinner, boy! Mind full of filth, like Satan's spawn. Let God shine his light down upon you by the moon and rip the sin out of your body! Put on your Sunday Suit boy, and pray that He may take mercy on your soul!"_

He began to scream, fingers digging into his arms and scalp as he tried to protect himself from the imaginary foes. His great grandmother's voice shrill in his ear, hands of his father roaming his body, the high pitched laughter of a clown, and the flapping of many dark wings, that shifted from leather to feather, squeaks to caws, bats to crows...

Though his brain told him it was their beaks and teeth that ripped his skin asunder and made his blood flow, it was his nails that did the damage now, staining his new sheets, and frightening the poor butler who had come to give him a warm meal of mashed potatoes and soft, cubed ham, since Bruce was late to arrive for dinner. He sat the tray down quickly on the bed-side table and came to him, "Doctor Crane? Please calm down!" he tried to take his hands but they were slapped away, a few nail marks now visible on his wrists. He ignored the sting and quickly left to call the young master home. He had believed that he would be home by now with the proper medications.

It was an awful scene of pure hysterics that Bruce entered upon when he arrived home, hours after he had intended, due to an abnormally long meeting, a female reporter who just would not take the hint that Bruce really needed to get on his way, and then as he arrived in mask at the Pharmacy to retrieve the items he needed, the shop was being robbed. Needless to say, this night had not been going as hoped.

He had just been stringing up the robbers to the lamp-post outside when he received the distressed call from Alfred. "What is it Alfred?" Batman asked in his gravely voice as he moved to retrieve his bag of medications from inside.

All he heard on the other line was "It's Crane!" for him to rush home, assuming the worst: That Jonathan had tried to make a run for it,... that Alfred was hurt, or dying... He would kill Jonathan if that was the case. What he hadn't planned for was arriving to see a full blown panic attack and self-induced injury on top of his already broken body.

He rushed in, not having taken the time to remove his Dark Cowl, and moved over him to stop Jonathan from flailing on the bed. His presence however caused more hysteria as the bird let out a piercing scream of terror, batting at the bat's face. All sense of the Doctor's calm, cool composure had taken a proverbial flight out the window.

Bruce grasped his wrists and then pinned his arms down, using his knees to squeeze him and keep him in place as he sat over him, pushing Jonathan's head down to keep him from thrashing. His side had re-opened and the bed was beginning to soak with his life-blood.

Bruce tried to coo him, quickly throwing off his mask and holding his face in his hands, shushing soothingly, "Jonathan... Jonathan it's all in your head. It's not real.." he tried. He knew however how strong the toxin could be, and that even those who knew it was not real couldn't battle it. He himself had needed a cure. The difference here was that Fox had saved him in time, while Jonathan had instead been sprayed with his highly concentrated dose, and never been given the inoculation. Needless to say, the damage was extensive and permanent.

However, it was a testament to Jonathan's strength that he had withstood it so long, and managed to control it enough to remain some semblance of sane, while others would have died of traumatic shock - even with no real terrifying memories or experiences under their belt as he did. Maybe that's what gave him the strength to overcome it. He had true terrors in his past, while others feared insects or abandonment, and the faux reality of the spray overran their ability to cope and took away their sanity or worse.

He had Alfred help him prepare a syringe with some of the meds that would hopefully reduce the hallucinations and calm him so he would stop causing himself damage. Nothing seemed to work to help him stop terror until he injected the poor doctor. Even then, it took several minutes for the screams and fighting to break free to subside, leaving the man panting, his face wet with sweat and tears. His dark hair was damp across his brow, and face pale, chalk white, and shining in the dim light.

Bruce sighed when Jonathan's eyes finally opened and were clear of fear and insanity. Instead, they shimmered under his lashes as the now quiet one observed Bruce through his weary lids. Throughout the hysteria, he had felt so alone, scarecrow trying to help, but unable to reach that half of him through the toxin's grip. Now, as it all cleared slowly, he could feel Scarecrow rocking him gently, holding him in his arms, and see Bruce sitting over him with a look of relief. As he sank into his other half's embrace, tired and shaking, he contemplated clawing the shit out of Bruce's face. But as he tried to lift a hand, he found he was still unable to. He was weak, and still pinned by Bruce. Further, he recalled their plan, and, that Bruce had just saved him from his bout of hysteria that would have endured until he passed out or died from the mental stress. He could let Bruce live to see another day - or rather night, in return...

He slowly began to slip into unconsciousness, worn down physically and mentally. He felt, vaguely, as his eyes slid open and closed lazily, Bruce's calloused hands on his body, cleaning both fresh and old wounds. He was woken up, however, not a half hour after by the same man, insisting that he take him to the bathroom to clean off the blood and sweat so he didn't get an infection.

By now, Alfred had left to run a warm bath for Jonathan, setting out towels and some new clothes he had procured that would fit the man who was much smaller in stature than the young master. Bruce picked up the hardly protesting Jonathan and carried him to the bath. Once he touched the water however, he squirmed just as he had that first time he'd been given a bird bath. Bruce recalled, however, that he calmed immediately when his hair was washed, and quickly wetted the man's hair, and began to work shampoo into it. If he calmed him first, he could then get to cleaning out his wounds.

Indeed, Jonathan struggled weakly until those strong hands began to run through his hair, massaging his scalp to the point of pure bliss. If there was one thing he may one day miss after he tore this man's head off, it would be the way those hands massaged his head, causing his eyes to roll and lids flutter. Was there anything better, now that he knew of it, than to have someone wash your hair?

He focused on his breathing: In through the nose, out through the mouth... in through the nose... feel the air travel down, fill the lungs, circle through your body, pass out through the mouth, pass the lips... and in agai- "What the hell are you doing!" he cried out as he felt Bruce's hands on his hip. Without realizing it, Bruce had finished with his hair and moved down to check his other wounds, namely the one still oozing blood where he'd been stabbed.

Bruce sighed, "If you don't quit opening up this wound, it's going to scar badly, or worse, make you bleed out one of these times. Nice to see you're back to yourself," he smirked.

The smaller male's face soured like a lemon, his lips a thin, white line of quiet freezing anger. "I wouldn't need to be bandaged at all if it weren't for you. Don't think I'll cut you any slack for your role in this," he hissed. He knew he was supposed to be gaining his trust, but he couldn't help but feel sore about this whole thing. "And what took you so long?" he pouted, glaring at him. "You said you'd be back hours ago!" he spat.

"My apologies your highness, I was held up at my meeting.." he said.

"Let me guess, it involved a long pair of legs in a tight black skirt and stilettos?" answered a skeptical Jonathan.

"They weren't stil-... ahem.. that's not important. What is, is that I made it in time, and you're alright."

"Please, spare me the fluttery sentiments. You could have brought me the medicine faster. You're The Bat-maaaan for God's sake! You can take down the Joker and Raz, then you can most assuredly fetch some medicine much faster!" he chided him. He wasn't happy... at all, and made it clear.

Bruce's interest was instantly sparked. This was the first time that Jonathan had ever mentioned Raz al Ghul... "Speaking of R-"

"No."

"Huh?"

"I said No."

"No what?"

"There is no 'Speaking of' on that subject," Jonathan glared at him.

Bruce frowned, "Why not?" he asked, staring right back at him. He himself had quite the history with the charismatic and powerful man. He would like to hear how the two had crossed paths, as it were. "I knew him too... how did you m-"

"Are you deaf?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You must be hard of hearing because I told you thrice, NO."

"And I take it you think I have to listen to you? You're not at liberty to say 'No' to me I should think."

"At liberty? What, you abduct me among other greater evils and think you have any right to tell me what to do?"

"I saved you."

"You raped me."

"Joker almost killed you."

"Because you took me to Arkham!"

"Which is where you belong."

"As it's head not as a patient!"

"You're both a criminal and insane, the definition of their patients."

"I'm seriously going to kill you!" Jonathan was growing angrier.

Bruce chuckled, "Really?"

Jonathan's icy eyes blazed, "Yes!"

"Oh so you do know that word?"

"No," Jonathan crossed his arms and looked away angrily.

Bruce couldn't help but smirk. Here was the great Dr. Crane, naked in his tub, battered and bruised, and acting like an angry four year old.

Jonathan couldn't help but frown. Here was the Dark Knight, giving him a bath and arguing with him like a damn toddler.

This was so... irritating and he felt more insulted by the minute. But Scarecrow nudged him. So far, Bruce hadn't hit him... this was a good opportunity to gain Bruce's trust... Especially since Bruce was smiling, and Jonathan was naked and wet.

Jonathan glanced up at him and then quickly away. He simply lifted his right arm up and held it out to Bruce, who blinked.

Jonathan flushed and spat, "Well? I thought you were changing my bandages! And my splint came undone!" he looked down, other arm between his legs to at least give him a little privacy, though his dignity had gone down the drain.

He still had plans to utterly destroy this man, but they might have to wait. Sometimes, to truly destroy someone meant more than a quick bullet to the brain, or in this case, a steak right through his fucking vampire heart... no, this required subtlety and tact. He would gain his trust and then, like Jenga, pull out the weakest link that would send Bruce and the Batman tumbling into despair and humiliation. Then, he would find happiness in killing him.

As for the clown... he and scarecrow both agreed to simply put a bullet through his head. Some things just ought not to be put off... and the clown was one such things. The tides turned too fast when the clown was involved, and therefore, the best path towards revenge on that front was to simply dispose of the Clown Prince of Chaos.

Bruce however, was also thinking about trust as he began to do up Jonathan's bandages. He then thought of something, "Jonathan?"

Jonathan's brow twitched, "What now?"

"I want you to cooperate a little..."

"Good luck with that..." he frowned.

"Right... well, when I went to your apartment... I happened to bring something back for you."

Jonathan tried to not look interested. It was probably something stupid, useless. He didn't need any of his books, though, it'd be nice to have something to read whilst stuck here... There was a flicker of curiosity in his eyes that made Bruce smile.

"It might involve music..."

"I don't care about music," he frowned. Really? Musical therapy? His CD's weren't something he couldn't live without and so not something he would barter for.

"It's your violin."

He suddenly froze and his eyes turned on bruce, staring. "I thought the police had taken it as evidence for Edward Pierce..." he said quietly. "No, they took the journal, not the violin. However, they broke some strings... I could get you some replacement strings..." he said open endedly.

He now had Jonathan's full attention. Scarecrow frowned, thinking Jonny had just given away how interested they were and would now have to give up more for it. "And what do I have to do... for you to give it to me?" he asked, eyes on him with deep intensity.

"You have to answer three questions truthfully and fully... and eat dinner with me."

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I hope you all like this chapter! Please review or I have trouble finding out what my audience wants!


	31. Dinner with the Bat

Thanks for the reviews and pms everyone. FYI, i'm super fricking sick, ears popping, nose clogged, can't breathe, eyes hurt, head pressure... but here I am typing for you! Also, I apologize for the long wait, but I had two deaths in the family this summer, one of which meant I had to travel half way across the U.S. for a funeral. Aside from this, my summer has been a chaotic affair. But you can thank reviewers and PM-buggers who keep poking me for this update, and I'm also working on another update as we speak. Yay! This story is so far from over you might punch me when you're fifty! KISS KISS

Disclaimer: I own nothing! TTATT

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"You have to answer three questions truthfully and fully... and eat dinner with me."

... Who the HELL did Bruce think he was talking to?

Jonathan wasn't someone you could just waltz over to and invite to dinner, much less after current events!

He had only attended a faculty dinner party with his Arkham employees once, and it had only been to ensure they receive a nice fat check from some wealthy businessman. The heavy pocketed man had simply _insisted _that Arkham's head of psychology attend the dinner meeting. It had been... quite the occasion.

At the start of the meal at some fancy restaurant owned by none-other than Bruce Wayne, Doctor Morris had tried to lighten the mood with a joke involving the word 'Ichabod'... Jonathan, in his very quiet but calculated voice, implied to the man that he should refrain from ever using that name again lest he find himself jobless. His eyes and tone of voice when he addressed the man had quieted the table for some minutes.

Crane's few words with the businessman however had guaranteed the procurance of money for the institution, but Jonathan's presence at the dinner had been cold and one that stifled any amusing conversation. The nurses had been terrified to speak, though they had hoped to learn more about the gorgeous man. The other psychiatrists were intimidated by him and hum-hummed and cleared their throats more than they actually spoke, for fear of making fools of themselves.

Needless to say, Crane had not found himself to be invited to any employee luncheons, dinners, potlucks, or parties after that, and it suited him just fine. He didn't need to pretend that he and his employees were his friends. They were simply beneath him... He paid them to do their job and keep out of his business.

So, when Bruce declared he must answer three questions and dine with him, well, he found himself laughing. "My dear dark rodent... whatever makes you think I would agree to that? In fact, what would you hope to gain from our eating a meal together mm?" his eyes were alight with cold mischief. He was amused.

Bruce frowned a bit. "Well it's not like I'm asking anything vital from you. A dinner... so what? What have you got to lose from it?"

"My pride for one thing you nocturnal dolor."

Bruce smirked at him, "How many of those have you got?"

"How many what?"

"Those names you keep calling me," he chuckled. It was almost like pet names... the way he said something new each time - rodent, dolor, vampire bat.. slurpee... it was almost cute... endearing in some way.

"Endlessss..." hissed Scarecrow in a low tone that would give a weaker man goose pimples. "And, that was your first question," smirked Jonathan triumphantly.

Bruce was struck silent for a moment, looking at him with a frown, but then smiled, "So you've agreed?"

"NO. But if I did... that was your first question," Jonathan said stubbornly.

Three rolls of the eyes and a half hour of back and forth banter between the two landed them in a shaky agreement. Jonathan would answer two more questions. He had the right to veto one question, which would be replaced by another. And he had to have dinner with Bruce, but Jonathan demanded it be dignified: no cuffs, chains, straight jacket... And Bruce had to keep his hands off at all times. AND he demanded clean clothes. Jonathan really was a stickler for the details and ensured himself of ways out of a tight spot. It made Bruce wonder what the other had been through, or if it was just some freakish quirk of character.

Bruce decided it was best to ask the questions at the end of dinner the next evening. He hoped the dinner would help put Crane into a good mood, and make him more likely to participate.

Jonathan, however, was not so easy to please.

* * *

When the dinner rolled around the next evening, he had had plenty of time to work himself up into a tizzy over what Bruce might ask, how he might answer, what could potentially be given away, what would hurt him and what he could afford to reveal...

While Bruce merely had to pick two of the questions he so desperately wanted to ask, Jonathan had to figure out how to answer them truthfully, yet protect himself, and also satisfy Bruce enough that he could obtain his violin.

He wondered why he was even willing to go through with this... He supposed being stuck here, it might be nice to have at least one comfort, one piece of himself that was HIS.

On the other end of the fence, Scarecrow knew they needed to start gaining Bruce's trust. Sure, start with answering a few questions under the guise of cooperation to receive something good... then, earn more points... more and more until Bruce trusted him... then smash him under the weight of reality. He was proud of his little birdie, for making it thus far. He just had to hold it together until after dinner.

Poor Alfred, meanwhile, was left with figuring out just what to make for dinner that wouldn't have the doctor sneering or chastising all throughout the meal. Bruce was relying on him to be clever and capture the far-too-skinny guest's appetite.

After a long look through his cook books, he had managed to assemble what he hoped would really knock the frail man out of his seat. Maybe then he would get off of his cocky throne and act like a civil human being... Alfred couldn't help but be hopeful, despite his doubts.

First would come a plate of freshly cut vegetables with a dill dip, accompanied with a tuna tartare. Next would come a supple squash soup with fresh french bread. The main course would be a pecan crusted fish with some garlic roasted parsnips. Desert would of course be cobbler.

Pretentious sounding? Maybe... but if the man took a bite there was no doubt he'd eat the whole thing... He seemed to recall as well, that a certain young child had loved when he made seafood... a long time ago...

Bruce on the other hand had spent most of his day only half paying attention to his meetings, while coming up with ideas of what he wanted to ask Jonathan. Now, perhaps it was just wishful thinking on his part, but he hoped that Jonathan would answer at least two of his many questions in a way that would satisfy his curiosity as well as help Bruce help Crane.

He knew at least one question would be vetoed... so it was up to him to decide how to ask the right question in which order. He knew Crane had so far refused to talk about Raz... so it was one of the questions. He would likely say no to that one... but maybe not. He had to ask the question just right. He had at least a hundred other questions he wanted to ask too... So it was hard to bring it all down to three possible inquiries.

However, by the time he was released from his work for the day, he felt pretty satisfied with his questions. If he opened with questions less revealing, Crane might begin to trust him. And that would be the key to unlocking the true Crane... or so he hoped.

* * *

When he arrived home, the marble hall echoed with his footsteps and smelled of the delicious meal to come. He should have expected Alfred to pull all the stops. He smiled and made his way up to get cleaned up for dinner. After he was pleased with his appearance, he headed down to Jonathan's guest room. Unlocking the door and opening it a crack as he knocked, he found Jonathan in a... state of undress.

He'd obviously worked up the courage to use the accompanying bathroom by himself and showered. He had his new pants on, but his hair was still dripping rivulets of water down his back, working their way over his scars and fresh bruises. He was in the middle of picking a shirt when he heard the tiny knock and froze for a moment before standing and swiveling around to see Bruce, "hmph.. knocking should come before opening the door..." he said quietly, moving over to the bed to pull on a pair of socks.

Bruce smiled. At least Jonathan was getting his cold humor back. He'd worried after the previous day's breakdown. But Jonathan appeared to be fine. "Well, I didn't want to give you too much of a chance to prepare an attack," he smiled.

"Riiiight..." Jonathan said smoothly as he pulled on a turtleneck. He frowned as his wrist brace got stuck in the arm. Bruce walked over and quickly adjusted it, letting the smaller finish dressing properly. Jonathan didn't say a word. He just wanted to get this over with.

He put on a pair of shoes he'd been given and turned, mussing his fingers through his hair, since he was given no mirror. He sighed and moved around Bruce, standing by the door and waiting with his arms crossed.

Bruce opened the door and accompanied Jonathan downstairs. He felt like this was really weird... walking beside a psychotic criminal to go have dinner with... but he supposed he had faced stranger. He recalled the time the Joker had declared, "You Com-PLETE Meee!" and the disgusted shudder that ran down his spine. Yes, jonathan was perhaps a ladder rung LESS strange than the Joker... maybe.

They opened the dining room's doors and Jonathan stopped short, the smells hitting his nose and for once he felt that ache in his stomach, yearning for food... He passed it off with a sneer, and moved to take a seat as far away from Bruce as he could when he blinked. Bruce had a grand long table, but instead of setting the plates at the far ends of the table, Alfred had set the plates down on one end closest to the warm fire, sitting them across from each other. It felt oddly, ... intimate,.. to forego the rest of the pompous table to sit so close... staring directly at one another. He felt his stomach churn; maybe he should have told Bruce to shove his dinner plans up his own ass...

He even turned to walk right the hell out but two things stopped him. First, was Bruce's hand on his arm as the flying rat chuckled at his obvious reluctance. He might have punched him right in his infuriating nose if his eyes hadn't set upon Alfred... or rather the tray in Alfred's hands, which contained just about his most favorite food that he could never set his hands on for he was not a rich prick - tartare.

As a boy, he had seen his family (before their fortune began to squander) often eat tuna or steak tartare and only sneer at him when he asked for a bite. As the disgusting, pathetic excuse for a boy that he was, he ought to eat what was given to him, which was always a sub-par, sub-sized dish.

He recalled, even now, his first taste of it at one of those god forsaken parties he hated to attend... those where the rich flashed their jewels and girls, while wining and dining away the evening. He had gone when 'celebrating' his new position as the head of Arkham. He had doubted he would want to stay long, and that had been truth, but the one thing that made the affair enjoyable had been a serving of steak tartare with quail egg. His lips had shook as he lifted his first small bite to his lips, and he had quite fallen in love with the dish. But as time wore on, the position at Arkham had not turned very much monetary profit, not to mention where much of his earnings DID go - to chemicals for his experimentations. He didn't have money to spare on such fancy foods and he dare not attempt to prepare it himself. He was, for all intents and purposes, rather useless in the kitchen. He never learned how to cook from his mother or from any servants. He had never been welcome anywhere unless it was far from his family.

He shook his head slightly, realizing how far he had zoned out and Bruce had somehow guided him to his seat without him even being aware he had been moved. He was sitting, and looked at his plate, which was... plastic... and his 'silverware' which was also plastic. He frowned slightly as Bruce watched him, chortling at Jonathan's vexed expression. He gestured to his own plate which was also plastic, so as not to piss Jonathan off. He received only a cold look of utter dislike before those icy eyes shifted to find Alfred and the tray with the appetizer dishes, staring longingly at the tartare, his stomach clenching.

He loathed the human condition that called for food. It was such a disgusting weakness, and most days the passing of slimy foods past his lips, over his tongue and down his throat merely sickened him. Perhaps he had an eating disorder... but he never focussed on his own faults long enough to know. But here and now, he wanted to eat That...

Bruce seemed to catch on to his longing gaze and tipped his head, gesturing for Alfred to serve their first course. As the food was placed before them, and Alfred proudly described the dill dip and the tartare, the bird's eyes darted from Bruce, to Alfred, to the tartare, wondering when he could eat. His hands shook, ready to lift his fork.

When Alfred turned to go back to the kitchen after filling their wine glasses, remarkably also plastic, Bruce was looking smug. He knew what Alfred had prepared had struck Jonathan deep down in his stomach. He was well on his way to getting the answers he sought. He hoped the wine might loosen Crane up slightly as well.

White, skeletal fingers only reached for his fork when Bruce had taken his first bit. Crane was fighting to not appear eager, as his fork dipped into the raw tuna dish. Those soft pink lips of his parted, and as the delicate food met his taste buds, he visibly seemed to relax at least ten degrees. Bruce was actually rather shocked that good food could have such an affect on him, when he recalled at that dinner party he and "Edward" had attended how the one before him had appeared so visibly sickened by the foods presented to him. And so far, Jonathan had acted much like his namesake, eating in a birdlike manner, barely putting a dent in the portions of food he was given, ... when Bruce remembered to feed him.

Scarecrow couldn't even find anything bad to say as Jonathan throughly enjoyed his first good meal in a long time. And although the amount of each course that Jonathan consumed was tiny in comparison to the muscled man across from him, Bruce was able to see that Jonathan struggled to appear to hate every moment of it. If Jonny was pleased in his stomach, he may be more inclined to answer his questions... So Bruce waited and ate in relative silence with him. He only asked Crane once if he was enjoying it. He countered the glare he was given by holding his hands up in an innocent gesture, "Alfred would just be pleased to know if he has done well you know." At the mention of the kindly though cautious butler's name, Jonathan turned to Alfred who was refilling their wine and hung his head. Not looking at him, he said, "... Thank... you for the meal..." almost too quiet to hear. But Bruce grinned, and Alfred looked pleasantly shocked, then smiled almost warmly, "You are most welcome," before retreating to the kitchen.

As the cobbler arrived at the end of the meal, Jonathan was already feeling like he had eaten too much (though he had probably eaten less than a quarter of what Bruce had). But his eyes fell on the cherry cobbler and he looked away. Okay... Bruce had to know the significance of that dish... didn't he? He glanced at Bruce who looked oblivious as to its meaning... of their first ever conversation... He swallowed thickly as it was placed before him. It would again precede an important conversation... in which Bruce would be questioning him, just as he had when Jonathan had first graced Bruce with his voice. Perhaps... the butler remembered him... maybe that he liked it. But he too would not know its importance, for he hadn't been there to hear his and Bruce's synchronous apologies.

He dipped into it and slowly brought it to his mouth, and he felt his heart shake. He wished...

Scarecrow reached out to him as if to wrap him in his arms and comfort him. He could tell darling dearest Jonny's resolve to hate Bruce, to fool him and to kill him viciously, was faltering. So many memories... so many wishes dashed to the stones... But it did not do to dwell on hopeless dreams. And right now the birdie felt those old dreams arise. He felt for a fleeting moment that he wished things had worked out... that he could have stayed here forever and always.. grown up alongside Bruce and gone somewhere prestigious like Harvard or Yale. He might have become a renowned doctor for an entirely different reason and purpose than the one he was currently infamous for. He might have felt wanted... As it was, however, he was perpetually a liability. He was a problem for Bruce. And it was all Bruce's fault!

Only one tear formed in his eye as Scarecrow dragged him out of his useless dreams and he returned once more to reality.

Jonathan wiped away the tear under the pretense of reaching his hand up to push his long bangs out of his face.

When they had finished, Bruce leaned his elbows on the table and laced his fingers in front of him as he surveyed Jonathan over his hands. "Do you want to sit in the chairs by the fire?" he asked him, gesturing with a jerk of his head toward two arm chairs sitting near the fire, which would be more comfortable than the dining chairs. And with no table to separate them, he could better gauge Jonathan's reactions to his questions.

Jonathan, who had had far more food than he'd had for at least a week, nodded silently. He stood and moved to the first armchair, sitting down and pulling his knees up to his chest, resting his cheek against the soft back of the chair, almost lulling himself into a sleep as Bruce came to sit. The chairs were angled, so they were partly facing the fire and partly facing the other chair, though not directly. It was a companionable set up. Bruce sipped his wine, looking at Jonathan over his cup and considering how to open the questioning. He may never get another chance like this.

Jonathan's eyes opened and blinked at him owlishly when Bruce cleared his throat. He supposed they couldn't draw this out any longer, so Jonathan just gave him a resigned nod.

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I know this may be a short chapter and mostly about food, but what you all must understand is that smell and taste have a strong hold over memories and the formation of bonds. Think about your grandma's stuffing or apple pie... just smelling them can bring back a million fuzzy memories. For Jonathan, who has so few good memories, I feel a simple thing like - a longed for dish like tartare or a desert with good memories like the cobbler, could have a strong effect on him. People often underestimate food, but its a driving force. Why else do dating couples go out to dinner? Also, consider the effect good or bad food can have on a situation or mood. I feel this meal shows a lot of insight into Crane as a human being with so few bonds to all things "Human", who yet can FEEL. Tell me what you think!

Love ~ Makki


	32. Stimulating Conversation

Yay did you all like that chapter? I hope so!

This chapter was so much fun to write and is full of moral questions and anger and friction... :3 hope you enjoy!

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Jonathan's eyes opened and blinked at him owlishly when Bruce cleared his throat. He supposed they couldn't draw this out any longer, so Jonathan just gave him a resigned nod.

Bruce looked at his wine glass and swirled the liquid in circles, considering his first question. He figured, this would be one Jonathan may be willing to answer... and it was one that had bothered him, because it related to someone who was no longer alive. He was maybe looking for some closure here, but... it was an easy question for Jonathan to answer, most likely.

Bruce once more cleared his throat and stroked the stubble on his chin after a very long day. "My first question... Why did you have to show Rachel your plot? Why did you gas her? I heard your conversation you know. You could have let her leave..." he said slowly.

Now, Jonathan was not an easy man to shock, but the fact that Bruce was wasting one of his questions on something so meaningless... so... unnecessary, threw him off. He had expected to be pressured with difficult questions he couldn't dream of trying to answer right from the start and getting backed into a corner. But this question was a gimme.

"Miss Dawes?" he confirmed with a bemused quirk of his brow. Hadn't the clown already seen to it that the annoying she-devil finally met her maker?

"Yes, Rachel, Rachel Dawes," Bruce said with a frown. "She was ... a friend of mine, and wanted to help Gotham." He didn't really want to admit to Jonathan that he had wanted Rachel... had loved her for a long time... had wanted her to choose him over Dent... that she was going to, before the damn clown ruined everything.

Yet, Bruce's intention here was not only to put this part of his anger at Jonathan behind him, but ease into the questioning. This was such a simple question, not entirely revealing and few secrets would be exposed. If Jonathan answered this question, then one of his next two, far more important questions would be answered.

"Hmph, she was an annoying pestilence," Jonathan responded. Scarecrow rather agreed and piped up, Jonathan's eyes slipping to the right ever so slightly, "Stuck that nose where it did not belong didn't she birdie...?"

Bruce seemed less than pleased with his answer so Scarecrow set forth to elaborate on his many vast reasons for disliking Miss Dawes.

"Heheheh..." Scarecrow bubbled up, giggling, "What a fool she was, always trying to step on birdie's toes... THAT woman did not take her losses in the courtroom well. She would follow dear Jonny out of the courtrooms, pester and prod him, make allegations that were less than pleasing... Looking down her pig nose at him. Ah, he yearned many a time to shut her up, bleed her like a swine, stick his pen through her gizzard!" he started to laugh.

Bruce gripped the edge of his chair with barely controlled fury. "But she was Right about you."

Scarecrow's laughing slowly faded at his statement and Jonathan returned, turning his head to the fire, eyes stoic but face pink after Scarecrow had described his occasional homicidal thoughts about that woman. He prided himself on his icy composure. He had not once, ever, displayed to her his irritation, just his clear view of her. That she was a child digging for dirt in a porcelain shop. She could not catch him, he was better than her in every way, from his composure to his brain. "Yes, she was right... I suppose." He lost himself in thought as he looked into the flames that licked the fire grate and warmed his cool cheeks.

He had never liked her, from the very start. She had immediately judged him as a child when he first met Bruce. She wanted nothing to do with him, and he was perfectly happy having little to do with her in return. Yet she had grown up into even more of a nuisance... and instead of avoiding him, she followed him like a bad case of psoriasis.

In a way, she had intimidated him on occasion. Not by how close she got to the truth (with no proof he might add), but the way she would get so close, approach him as he was leaving a trial, stand right up to him so she could use her two inches height above him to her advantage, looking down her nose at him and preaching like... like she were better than him, like she was his grandm-

He hissed frigid eyes trying to quench the fire with the sheer glacial blast emanating from them, "I cannot describe accurately to you all the reasons I loathed her. My opinion of her closely resembled a pig squealing as it preached on an overturned trough. When she got too close to the truth, I knew I had to quiet her or else she might have caused difficulties, not that she could have done much. But, I had hoped that when it all passed, I might emerge with reputation unscathed, since her theories were all based on speculation alone."

"That didn't work out very well for you did it?" Bruce couldn't help but smirk triumphantly.

It was probably the wrong thing to say... judging by the way Jonathan glared at him, but the Doctor thought better than to scream in his face about what Batman had done to him that night... As he traced the tiny scar on his cheek where Rachel had shot him in the face with a taser, he merely replied calmly, "So it would seem..."

Jonathan looked at Bruce and continued. "I tried to be more discreet in the beginning... Falcone wanted her... taken care of, in the typical mob-minded fashion. I was only too happy to oblige. Too bad hired men never really Perform as one would hope..." he said in his bored tone. There was something lewd about the way he uttered the word 'perform', that was not missed by the billionaire who felt an unwanted stirring in his loins. He could 'perform'...

"Have I satisfied the question?" Jonathan drawled, wishing to move on and get done so he could have his damn violin and go be alone for a while. He did not seem to catch that Bruce had for a moment, wandered far off tangent into steamier thoughts.

Bruce was dragged back to the proper topic, and considered Jonathan's answer to his first question. He supposed Rachel had had the tendency to forego her own safety and poke where she probably shouldn't have when alone... So, Rachel's first and second close call with death had been because Falcone found her to be a threat and Jonathan merely considered her a pest... That at least revealed Jonathan's patience could stretch for quite a while before snapping, as she had been on Dr. Crane's case for the better part of forever before the man had sought to be rid of her with his own hands. He scowled though, as this conversation brought back so many memories.

Finally, Bruce nodded, not wanting to talk about Rachel anymore. But something in his expression piqued Jonathan's interest, and suddenly there was a choking sound and he looked up to see Jonathan looking like he just found a new puppy to kick. "You ... You LOVED her..." he breathed with wide eyes, lips twitching like he couldn't tell if he should laugh in disbelief or gag with disgust.

Bruce blanched and gave the doctor a harsh glare, "Drop it."

"I simply cannot. You Did didn't you? You can't hide it from ME."

"I said drop it Crane. It's none of your business and I'm the one asking questions here."

Jonathan scoffed. "So the Dark Detective thinks he's the only one permitted to ask questions hm? Need I remind you I AM a certified Psychologist,..." he smirked slowly. "You will find you can hide very little from me Mister Wayne," he said in his professional voice.

The larger of the two men clenched his fists, but refused to rise to the bait.

"Come now Mister Wayne you can tell me aaanything,..." his soft voice ghosted towards him.

The fists shook with restraint, yearning to wrap themselves around that skinny white throat.

"Did you confess to her? Did you ask her to choose between a man with two faces and another man with two faces? How did it feel when you went to save her, and Failed so spectacularly?" he asked in a sweet voice.

Bruce was out of his seat before he knew it, but stopped, standing there and holding himself in place. Jonathan hadn't even reacted. He was testing to see if Bruce was truly resolved to stop bashing his skull against hard surfaces or not. So far, Bruce was doing rather well, which was surprising.

Bruce flopped back into his chair and sighed, shaking his head and the bird smirked, having gotten away without a fresh bruise. Maybe it was because if Bruce punched him now, he wouldn't get to ask another question... or maybe it was because he would probably start bleeding everywhere if his wounds reopened. Likely it was both.

The detective now looked at his house guest with a calculating gaze. He wanted Jonathan to reveal what made him, but for that to happen, he needed Jonathan to refuse a question first. He knew the perfect one...

"Alright. Then, I want you to tell me how you became involved with Raz a-"

"As brilliant a detective as one would claim the bat to be, I should think it within your power to know that that is not a question I am willing to allow you to finish, let alone answer," Jonathan said in such a short, icy voice that Bruce wondered how those lips didn't turn blue. But this did not shock him. He had in fact known that Jonathan was highly reluctant to even hear that name.

Now at least, Jonathan had to answer the next question, or he wouldn't be getting his precious violin. He hoped it was incentive enough for him to talk. Since Bruce had Crane's diary, he had at least a little insight to his past, but it was written in such a way that was difficult to really decipher. Jonathan and the Scarecrow switched on and off between whimpering and screaming, agony and anger... it was all too vague to understand, yet too vivid to bear.

"Fine. Then, I want you to tell me about your family..." he said.

Jonathan's eyes slowly slid to him and narrowed. "That's not a question."

"I want to know about your past. How did you grow up? What happened to you?" He rephrased.

"You insinuate something must have 'happened' to me, to make me the way I am?" he asked with a cold look, ignoring that the bat had just asked a hugely open ended question, one that would be impossible to answer entirely, nor was he willing to.

"I doubt you were born a sadistic villain," Bruce replied with skepticism.

That actually made Jonathan let out a soft giggle he hid behind his hand. "So black and white Nightrat..." he smiled then paused to look into the fire, "Who knows... maybe I Was born the monster the world tells me I am... or perhaps not... I suppose one could say I was made to be this way... your friend Rachel certainly would not have been able to see that. She, like so many, too often refuse to look at those they deem unfit for society and ponder the WHY. To see that those they call monsters, are simply a reflection of themselves."

Bruce listened avidly, wondering how far Jonathan would go with this. Would he tell him about his growing up? "However, the answer to your question, Bat-man... is as you could certainly guess on your own, not one I am willing to discuss entirely. Neither am I capable of it," he said as his eyes narrowed, humor gone.

Bruce wasn't surprised. Jonathan was by no means someone who'd be willing to simply sit down by a fire and tell his life story. He himself would have trouble with that.

"However, consider you this:" He whispered so softly that Bruce had to lean forward to hear him, Crane's eyes catching the light of the flames and appearing to dance, "The man you have become, the creature of the night which haunts the dreams of criminals,... this thing you are, is the product of, what I would propose at this point, a childhood fear, and the one traumatic event in your life that has left you emotionally scared - the loss of your beloved family before your very eyes..."

Bruce stared at him hard, not revealing how he was a bit shocked that Dr. Crane could summarize him so quickly, without knowing all the facts.

The bird continued in his analysis of the bat, leading up to a major point, "This vast split in character created by that one event, that one crack in your psyche, drives you against ALL those who pose a threat to the city your parents once strove to protect. In the grander scheme of things, it's a rather insignificant thing..." the way Crane downplayed the horrible experience caused Bruce's nostrils to flare and eyes darken considerably, "but if just that one small thing can create such a character as the Bat-man, think then, on what the repercussions may be for a life FULL of horrors beyond anything you could be capable of conceiving..." at that Jonathan simply stood.

"I have answered your questions to the limit of my ability at this point. I should like to go to bed now." He was done with Bruce, whether or not Bruce felt he was done with him. He had not snapped or attacked Bruce, and felt this at least should make the Bat trust him just a little more. Meanwhile, he hoped it had been enough to gift him with his Violin.

Bruce however stood and came too close for comfort to the Doctor, who stepped back and toppled back down into the chair, looking up at him with irritation. Bruce frowned, "You think seeing them die right in front of me wasn't a big deal?"

"Brucey dearest, I think you missed my poi-"

"You think it's not a big deal to see them shot? I was just a boy Jonathan!" he growled, hands on either side of him now, gripping the arms of the chair.

"I-I'm saying that people die every da-"

"You think that makes it any less traumatic? You think it wouldn't bother someone?"

"Would you let me finish a sen-"

"Think it was easy to see them die for No reason at all? When all that man wanted was their valuables? You think it didn't grind into me to see that man getting away with murder just so the police could get dirt on Falcone?"

Now Jonathan was smirking. Bruce was revealing so much hurt to him right now. Like he really WAS his psychologist, "Mister Wayne, you're going over your time for the day," he checked an imaginary watch, "we could re-schedule you an appointment, let's say tomorrow at noo-"

He was choked off with a firm hand on his neck, making the bird shut up and listen. "You say you had horrors? Fine, maybe so, but you dare insult my parents memories and I'll be sure to correct you right on the spot, you hear me Crane?"

Jonathan just looked at him blankly.

"I said do you hear me?" he growled in his Batman voice.

Jonathan struggled to nod his head what little he could. Bruce wasn't strangling him, he just had a firm grip, making it impossible to taunt Bruce anymore, and the threat of further punishment imminent if he smarted off again.

Vaguely, Jonathan wondered if Batman treated all criminals the way he was treated. He heard through the grapevine how he had beat the snot out of the Clown not so long ago when trying to find the whereabouts of Miss Dawes and Harvey Dent. He supposed there were those who simply pushed Bruce over the edge, counting himself among the oh so lucky few.

Jonathan took a slow breath through his lips, trying to get enough air for a question. "Tell me... then... what did you do, when he was about to walk free?" His eyes were simply drinking all this in. He was becoming fascinated with Bruce's disturbed mind. He would love to strap him down and ream him with questions, peer into his mind, find all his greatest fears... He licked his dry lips slowly.

Bruce kept his grip on his neck, eyes narrowing. Only one person knew what he'd been ready to do back then, right before he vanished from Gotham, setting off his journey in which he was found by Raz, and irrevocably changed (for the better he wasn't sure...). But that one person was gone now... taking the secret to her grave. Even Alfred hadn't known his intentions. "I was going to kill him," he finally said in a whisper.

Jonathan's eyes grew big and his lips pulled back in a soft smile. Almost as if he understood, but it caused glee to well up inside him. He had just learned something huge. Despite all the Clown had done, no matter how many lives the Joker ruined, Batman had not simply killed him... He could so easily have used those cannons in that dark-death tank he drove, or some other weapon in his artillery to take him down, dispose of him for good. But he did not. Yet Bruce had nearly killed the man who murdered his precious parents. "What stopped you?" he finally asked in a raspy voice, neck still not released.

"I ... was too slow..." Why was he saying all this? God he was supposed to be asking Crane the questions. Damn him! It was some kind of... shrink trick... He tightened his grip, irritation bubbling up.

Crane choked a bit, trying to swallow, "Far from M- (shaky inhale) Miss Dawes' ideals... you were," he smiled, hands coming up to try to make him let go. It was getting uncomfortable and Scarecrow was itching to gouge his eyes out, despite their resignation to playing nice, only to bring the Bat down in a glorious hellfire later.

Bruce recalled how she had slapped him, looking at him in complete disappointment... "For a moment."

"So what now Bruce? You won't kill? You really wouldn't kill the Joker?"

"No. It's not my place," he said relenting his grip slightly.

Crane breathed in quick, having much to say to that, "Not your place? Tell me... if you were a not-so-corrupt member of Gordon's police force, would you not have the authority to shoot-to-kill? Society gave them that privilege; the privilege to place the safety of your life, of the force's life, and the lives of Gotham's citizens before the life of the suspect. If that suspect points a gun at you, he wouldn't think twice on shooting, and that is how an officer must react. So you, who has decided you do not NEED Gotham's permission to take down crime, you who have caused hundreds of thousands of dollars in property damage over the course of your one-man-war against crime, do not feel you have the ... assumed rights of the police? You don't think that after all you do, you cannot make that decision?"

"..." he stay quiet for a moment, "It's in the hands of the court... it's... democracy... they deserve a trial."

"Oh yes, the oh so 'fair' courts... You've seen their effectiveness on dealing out justice. Bruce, the amount of fair justice one is awarded only goes so far as how much justice one can afford."

"That's not tru-"

"Isn't it? You wouldn't know. You can afford anything! I had a female in my employ at Arkham, who would coo to her coworkers every day about how she cared for her grandmother of 90, how she would spend every happy moment she was away from work, sewing and stitching and crocheting with her. But one day, an employee of the retirement facility her grandmother lived in, left a briefcase on the old lady's floor. Mind you, he wasn't supposed to be in her room in the first place. When the old lady walked into the room, she fell over the case and broke her hip. Three days later, she was dead. Imagine my employee's distressed sobs Bat-man. Imagine how she cried when no one would take her case against the company. Who would sue such a big name? She couldn't afford it anyway. Her death was signed off as 'complications of old age'. Yet a murderer can get off with favors to the force, information, or mob money. How fair is your system Bruce?"

"I agree it's not perfect Jonathan, that's why I do what i do. I try to keep the criminals off the streets. What happens after that is not my business."

"Mmm, that's why you would have killed the man who shot your parents," he smirked as his come back.

Bruce was having a lot of difficulty refuting Jonathan's speech. Unlike the Joker with his obviously insane sense of reality, Doctor Crane laid everything out so plainly, so... Logically. The one point they just didn't seem to see eye-to-eye on, was the point of handing out death.

"What about you Crane? I... I'm not sure there's even a documented case where you directly killed one of your victims..." he asked, eyes searching for understanding.

He smirked, "Impressive hm?" his eyes glinted and Bruce gave him a warning squeeze.

Crane was only playing along at this point because he was finally engaging in a stimulating psychiatric (not to mention moral-based) conversation. Scarecrow giggled, "Documented... heh, yeah," he had gotten away with quite a few things in his past.

Jonathan continued as if Scarecrow hadn't pointed out Bruce's implication that Jonathan had probably killed before... Surely it would piss the bat off if he openly admitted it, which would never happen. That was a deeply... deeply... deeply locked away black box inside himself. "I find that in many cases, death is too simple. And further, is it really that big a punishment for a killer to sit in jail for the rest of his life? Thoroughly fed and warm? They get more than the perfectly innocent but poor of Gotham get. I am simply fascinated with the fear that drives people to do the things they do. For those who cross me, I find it more satisfying to watch their personal demons torture them..."

His other half stepped in in his eerily cold voice, "I can see the fear in their eyes and hear their screams... it is so much more appetizing than seeing the blissful closed eyes of death."

"Blissful?" Bruce quirked a brow.

"I don't fear death Bat-man," the ex-Head of Arkham narrowed his eyes.

"What DO you fear then?" Bruce said then.

Crane giggled, "ohhhh you sound like ME now my vespertilian captor."

Bruce let out a low growl of irritation. He kept getting led in circles by this man. It was infuriating and yet... He swiftly moved down and captured his lips with his own in a battle of mouths.

Jonathan had realized by now that any time Bruce seemed to be threatened by him when it came to a battle of the mind, the Bat sought to regain control with either physical force or in this particular case, a different kind of physical force... the sensual and inevitably sexual kind.

He glared, but also attempted to fight back, and not with his fists, but with his mouth... As much as it made him feel sick to his stomach, and as much as he hated this man after all he had put him through in recent months (he assumed it had been months, for he really had no idea exactly how long now Bruce had ruined his life this third time around), he responded with vigor. He had just danced circles around the Bat in the verbal realm, so to hell if he'd let the billionaire win here too. Besides, the more he pretended to give in, the closer he would get to his revenge. He would lay Bruce's soul bare for all to see the broken, sick pieces, and he would laugh his way to freedom. He fought for the sake of his own pride and for the sake of his plot to break the Bat's leather wings.

Teeth gnashed against each other, and lips were bitten hard enough to draw little beads of blood as a strong hand brushed through dark hair, gripping hard and yanking a pale face back as the Dark Knight attempted to regain control by devouring the bird. Jonathan tried to fight it as he was jerked about like that, but Bruce yanked his head back again. The smaller man gasped out as he craned his neck back painfully, his now bruised throat exposed for the currently unmasked vigilante. The Bat dove in, dragging his teeth down his neck and biting at creamy skin.

It made Bruce hard to have him like this and that he was responding to it. He continued in his efforts to claim him, sucking hard at the pulse in Jonathan's neck. Jonathan jerked, trying to push him back. He had fought for control of the kiss for pride but now Bruce was gaining all the power in this situation and he was Not okay with that.

His hands pushed at Bruce's chest to no effect. He tugged at his hair to pull him back up. Finally he bit the hand that was currently cupping his cheek. The hand in his hair gripped harder in punishment as Bruce yelled out, coming back up to glare at him. He had a crescent of tooth marks on his hand and it was freely bleeding, a dribble of blood sliding down Crane's lips.

Bruce groaned, and leaned back in for a clash of tongues once more, still leaning over him in the chair. Crane was angled so awkwardly, it hurt his neck and his lower back as the arm of the chair dug into him. He moved a knee up to try to push free, but a firm hand came to his leg, grasped him around the back of his knee and hoisted it up around Bruce's waist, allowing the playboy to slide up firmly, hip-to-hip with his prey.

Bruce pulled him flush against his body, moving down his neck once more, tongue tracing the bruises left by his firm grip. Jonathan snarled and squirmed to get free, scratching at his face. Bruce turned and bit his fingers, but didn't let go. Instead his eyes moved up to look right at him, teeth securely holding his guilty hand in a vice grip before his tongue began to smoothly lick them, making Jonathan's eyes grow larger in disgusted shock, jerking his hand away from him, and holding it safely against his own chest. Bruce smirked and eyed him with lust. As he moved to reclaim his mouth, Jonathan snarled and shoved a disturbingly bloody hand against his face.

The awkward angle he was being bent over the chair at had stretched his abdomen and as a result, pulled open a few stitches. Jonathan hissed as sticky warm blood stained yet another shirt. He did not look forward to having to be re-stitched because Bruce was a greedy, sick bastard! He let out an annoyed groan at the pain and knowing the sting that would later follow as he was sewn together again. Bruce too looked annoyed as the mood died and glared at the wound, like it was it's fault for spoiling something intensely pleasurable.

He looked up at Jonathan, whose expression clearly displayed fury barely held back by the Doctor's typical composed nature. He sighed and stood up, picking him up carefully to take back upstairs. On the way, he retrieved a kit to sew him closed again. Jonathan squirmed to be set free, but calmed when Bruce opened his door, and his violin already lay on his bed waiting like an old friend. He blinked.

Had Bruce assumed he would cooperate? Or had he planned to give it to him no matter the results of their dinner? He didn't know what to think of it as he was set down. He batted the Bat's hands away from him and snatched the kit. He threaded the needle and briskly passed it through his own skin with barely a wince. He didn't need Bruce. He was fine on his own.

Once he finished, he glared at the other as if to say, 'Leave before I say something we'll both regret.' And 'lo, the Bat for once heeded his warning, and left him be.

He shuddered slightly at how he felt cool, sticky traces of Bruce's saliva on his skin. He would need a bath... soon.

Jonathan then glanced at his violin and sighed, "Alone at last..."

* * *

Please dear readers, review for me! Tell me what you thought, tell me what you want! you got a little action finally after all those fuzzy fluffy but painful memories of previous chapters :3 was it worth the wait?


	33. It May Take One to Know One

Thank you all for supporting and bugging me to bits, it makes me happy I still have your love. Life sure runs away on you doesn't it? Here's your year long awaited chapter, I hope your wait has been justified! Love!

* * *

Jonathan sat upon the soft bed, shocked that somehow, between dinner and now, the faithful butler had changed his wrecked sheets for new linen, which smelled faintly of lilac, a scent that brought a calm to his senses like no other. He leaned back amongst fresh, plump pillows and stared at the door a long moment.

What had he revealed at dinner? Hopefully not enough to give the bat much to play with. He spoke of the pig Rachael, and merely indicated that his life had been exponentially worse than the bat's one run in with tragedy. Truly, Bruce behaved as if no three out of five Gothamites hadn't witnessed first-hand the death of a loved one… but many people were shortsighted in the empathy department.

That's not to say Jonathan had ANY empathy whatsoever for the pour damned souls of the god-forsaken city. If life had taught him anything at all it was 'fairness' was as mythical as Santa Claus. Life was an ever-changing chaotic mass, and whilst some seemed to be dealt a hand of aces, others were handed a joker – as it were – and found themselves the brunt of some cruel cosmic joke.

Here, he now lay without a clue as to where life was heading for him. He had nothing left to lose save perhaps his life, but that wasn't something he really feared.

Glancing to the side, he looked at the finely curved dark stained wood instrument he had traded conversation for. Mayhap it was all worth it…

He sat up slowly so as not to rip open the painful wound on his hip and lifted the lovely creation from its case and touched its long neck almost reverently. Caressing slick wood from head to the base, he relaxed. This was something his brain could slip into away from nightmares of past and present…

His fingers jerked upon touching the two broken strings from the police ripping the journal out with no regard for the well being of his personal property. He felt rage trembling in his fingers. How dare they?

But… it was salvageable… somehow the often brainless rodent had remembered to bring him spare strings, so all was not lost.

For the next hour, he resolved himself to simple maintenance and repair of his beloved treasure. Thin waxen fingers moved with purpose to bring the violin back to working order. Once he was certain she was fixed, he laid the now gleaming polished prize back into its case and closed the lid slowly.

Glancing at the camera, he gave it a not so subtle bird gesture and then lay down in exhaustion.

Somewhere in the manor, a certain billionaire cursed quietly at being denied a concert….

* * *

Little Edward sat in the library in a comfy leather chair he had staked claim to as of late. Currently, the master of the house was sitting doing some kind of adult paper stuff – he assumed bills or the like, and had a radio playing classical music. Because Bruce was still grounded, he was being forced to help the Mrs. with some mildly annoying chores to which the boy had greatly protested to doing. Edward, though offering to help in a silent gesture, had been told he should find something he'd enjoy doing, since he was not being punished.

That thing happened to be reading his new books in a quiet location. Being Bruce's home, the least likely to be disturbed location was the library, which doubled as the Senior's office. Mr. Wayne didn't seem to mind the additional company of the quiet lad. In fact, he smiled warmly, and offered him a peppermint, which Edward had gently but quickly snatched before he retreated back to his far chair.

This however, the older man deemed progress. Before, the child might have fled. But after his rescue from the cold, Edward had seemed to warm up a few degrees. They sat in quiet companionship, one reading classics, the other seeing to business. It was altogether a pleasant morning.

And according to his calendar, it was the morning before the New Year… if by the next day no one had claimed the boy, they could file their paperwork to become his new guardians.

Martha was antsy with hopes that he would join their family. Though the Doctor reminded her that they should only hope that Edward was safe and happy (be it with his true family or them) she could not help but eagerly await No new news.

In this regard, she and Edward were of the same mind. He crossed his fingers and begged Scarecrow to see him through this, each night since he was told of their wishes to adopt him. For what else did he have to turn to? Not a soul on the earth outside these walls showed him care but his sister… And when those thoughts came to him, he was swallowed up in so much pain he could not bare it, and had to give himself completely over to Scarecrow's embrace, away from the entire world.

He had but one day to go. Surely he could not screw this up. Surely for once he would be given the gifts that so many others seemed to have without once deserving it. Surely he could have love in the arms of a warm family. Surely Bruce would keep his promise to protect his secret. Surely…

As he read the story of Sleepy Hollow, he swayed gently to the music soothing its way throughout the leather and old paper scented room. He almost didn't notice the pause in the sound of Thomas' pen scratching across paper, except that a new smell entered the room. Lilac wafted past his nose, telling him that Mrs. Wayne had stepped in. He turned his head to the door and found her looking at him with a soft… what was that expression? Motherly… it was a motherly look… like that photo of the good Mary looking down at her newly born babe. As much as he chafed at religion, her look was one of a mother's true love, and here it shown on Martha's face. And for whom? For him… for a boy who had never felt this. His throat seemed to develop a lodge around which he could hardly swallow his spit.

She stepped forward to pet his hair gently, and he did not pull away. Instead he continued to stare into her eyes as she smiled and sat on the arm of the chair. "What are you reading? Ah, I remember this story, what do you think of it?"

Of course, he had yet to utter words to them, but they obviously still hoped to hear his voice. He smiled just barely, which in Edward-silent-language meant it was very enjoyable and he loved his Christmas gift.

Thomas chuckled, "Don't prod Martha, he'll come around. Now, where's that naughty boy of ours?"

"Out helping Alfred with brunch, which I'm sure he's loudly protesting. But I thought he might benefit learning that food doesn't appear out of thin air," she chuckled. Her son seemed to be of the opinion that delicious duck comfit, treacle tarts, and pudding should appear when desired, not hours later.

Not that they didn't do their best to teach him humility before. But he was still young, and one couldn't expect too much from a boy his age. Edward's maturity was an outlying factor, the exception to his age bracket, and honestly, probably not due to positive experiences… They only hoped the two boys benefited from each other: one to gain maturity, the other to learn how to be a kid.

"Well let's go relieve him of his duties and have a family game shall we?" Thomas smiled, setting aside his work and joining his wife's side, pecking her cheek before offering a hand to Edward.

He looked at it with caution, consulting his mental companion who prompted him to take his hand. A little trust was all they asked… After all they'd done, perhaps he had a little left in his bucket to spare. He placed his hand in the doctor's and the three wandered off to save Bruce from kitchen work. Brunch would be ready soon, and they could relax as a prospective family. Besides, there was football and parades to watch, welcoming New Year's eve.

This was new for Jonathan, sitting comfortably together on the couch, eating biscuits with honey and jam, eggs benedict, and drinking eggnog by the fire, watching the festivities. It felt like a dream. Or rather how a Real family was supposed to be. And soon it could be… would be… HIS family.

Bruce sat next to him, nudging him with his elbow now and then excitedly. He actually smiled back at the enthusiastic boy, who was growing on him, little by annoying little bit. He figured most boys found their brothers infuriating a good portion of the time, but also protective and fun another, smaller portion. He could deal with that.

Over breakfast, Thomas told them they would be having a few family friends over for a New Year's party… well, actually more than a few. It couldn't really be helped, considering they WERE the Wayne family, and this was a party-atmosphere holiday. However, the boys would have plenty of things to keep themselves occupied with, and so long as they had good behavior, would be allowed to stay up until the ball dropped.

It was certainly a spectacle the boys both looked forward to. What kid their age got to stay up that late? It was one of those childish goals, to break curfew, to never ever never go to bed.

Poor Edward knew this only too well now as Bruce seemed to find it necessary to crawl into his bed late each night and poke him with a not-so-whispered, "Hey, you awake? Let's play!"

Bruce also liked to sneakily play well into the late hours, which now Edward was roped into. His least favorite being 'Doctor' which everyone knows is an excuse for comparing… things. Though to Bruce's credit, he only did that once, and afterwards made a very convincing neurosurgeon, pretending to cut open his head with a fake plastic scalpel from his Jr. Doctor Kit and pull the bogeyman out of his head. Scarecrow was one part pissed and one part tickled silly.

But tonight they had explicit permission to stay up past the midnight hour. What a glorious night! And Bruce planned to make the most of it. He could show all the business men Edward, get treats and kisses from the ladies, play with any kids that showed up, and be master game leader of the night. As he described the past parties, Edward shrank a little, afraid of the number of people he was describing. Best he stick to one of their sides all night, just to be safe…

* * *

Current day Bruce sat in his office looking thoughtful as he drank his morning coffee. He had much to digest about their relatively short conversation the previous night, not to mention the heated make-out/biting session that occurred immediately following.

Hell, the fact that Jonathan had reciprocated the kiss in any way was some form of progress, but progress towards what? He wasn't sure, but he liked it. It had been so hard to pull away last night, the only thing stopping his desire being the blood. No matter how many romance novels proclaimed vampires sexy, someone bleeding profusely while having sex was more or less an Undesirable factor.

He sat back in his seat, frustrated sexually, mentally, and physically. He should get his life back on track… but what did he mean by that? Get back to his nightly patrols? Invest more attention in his company? Search for a lover who was, preferably, neither a psychopath nor male? What did 'on track' mean? Once, it had been a goal of one day giving up the mask for Rachael…

At the thought of her face he felt his mood sour and shame roll in his stomach. How could he WANT Crane so badly when he had once nearly killed her? When he epitomized all he would never let himself become?

Was their fellow suffering and common knowledge of each others' true identity what drew him in? He did not have to hide who and what he was from Crane. The Doctor could pull it out of him without even trying.

Or was it something else?

Was it his sultry, higher-than-thou expression? His naughty full lips? Those piercing, electric eyes? The haunted soul he carried?

Or perhaps the fuzzy memory of a small smile, a soft voice, and a boy who put his trust in him to guard a terrible secret?

He hated these disjointed memories prodding at the back of his mind, seeming half dream, half reality. How could he forget an almost brother? How had they been separated? How could things have been different? What did that make him now, for desiring Jonathan in such lurid ways? Would it have happened anyway? Or might they have been the best of brothers? Or the worst of enemies?

So many more questions than answers burdened his morning. His brain was abuzz with thoughts, such that he didn't hear the soft bare footsteps of his unwilling houseguest wander into the room.

Concerning Jonathan, Bruce had put a lot of thought into his living conditions here after their conversation the prior evening. He knew that there wasn't a legal prison in America that treated its inmates the way he had to the insane Doctor. That's not to be said for how inmates treated each other, but the institutions themselves hadn't had conditions like he'd forced on Jonathan since maybe the 50's.

Therefore, he had figured that with the house on lockdown and Jonathan's body in deplorable condition, he wouldn't get far if he decided to get up. And should he get the gumption to try the door, and find it unlocked, he wasn't likely to make a successful escape attempt. Perhaps some improved conditions would put the Doctor into a more agreeable mood. Not that his foul mood wasn't well within reason considering what the billionaire did to him.

Bruce had considered it long and hard till his head hurt, concluding Crane may not be as likely to rip his head off and chop him to pieces if he had a minute amount of freedom… at least while he was in a weakened state.

It helped his sense of security that he'd placed a tracking bracelet around Jonathan's ankle. As depraved as Jonathan could be, he wasn't likely to gnaw off a foot just to escape… or so he hoped.

So he wasn't surprised that Jonathan stood in the doorway, surveying the bookshelves calmly. He WAS surprised to find him standing there wrapped up in a fluffy white bathrobe, hair dripping from a shower.

Instant. Erection.

…

'What is wrong with me!?' he despaired in his head.

"Good morning," he opted for.

Jonathan didn't reply, but instead wandered down the shelves, a hand dragging along from cover to soft leather bound cover. He found it… odd, that despite the mansion having been burnt down to a bloody crisp, the room smelled familiar. How could it still hold that old leather smell, the faint hint of cigars (which Thomas had collected, yet not smoked), and soft traces of the lilac perfume, which Martha had once worn. It felt… like … _home….. _his brain supplied.

He shook his head, glancing at Bruce. "Interesting, that you have almost fully replaced your father's collection…"

Bruce was still a bit focused elsewhere, such as on Jonathan's slender, creamy legs, and slickened black hair, but managed to respond, "He was a very organized man… There were lists in his bank deposit box of almost every collection he owned, from books, to baseball cards, to-"

"Cigars, yes," Jonathan nodded, slowly pulling out a book to glance over.

It still blew Bruce's mind that Jonathan had intimate knowledge of his home and family, and further that the insane man remembered almost insignificant details that he himself now found difficult to recall. He frowned, mind traveling back, trying to piece it all together. Yet when they died, he had willingly pushed it away, memories too painful, though they haunted him always.

When he had vanished, and his home was all but abandoned, he hadn't given it a second thought. When the mansion had burned down, he had hardly cared but for the small things like his father's medical kit. Now he stood in an almost perfect replica of the once welcoming library office, and he felt pain… but also a hint of peace he hadn't felt in ages. Where had that come from?

"It still smells like …" Jonathan trailed off, not sure he was willing as yet to discuss it. Bruce still obviously didn't remember the most important factor in their tale… and talking about it like everything was some magical dream or warm memory just pulled the wool over the agonizing truth. That this was not his home. That it never had been. And it was All on Bruce…

He felt his fingernails biting into his palms, and glanced down as he unfurled his hand. It shook with his suppressed emotions.

Bruce came over as Jonathan pretended to find great interest in a book about ear infections. "It smells like my parents," he said, leaning against the shelf to get a better view of Jonathan's face. The man's brow twitched just barely, and his lips thinned in that dangerous fashion. He also noted that Jonathan was attempting, with vigor, to reign in his angry response.

He succeeded, by breathing slowly out his nose, and slipping the book back into place, "Am I to draw the conclusion that we are at some form of truce, being that I'm not strewn on a damp cave floor with my glasses shattered?"

"Yes, if you'd like to call it that. If you find it in you to behave like a decent human being, I will give you, limited, freedom to move about the mansion," Bruce explained.

"I'm sorry who's supposed to be the decent human being?" he quipped. "Interesting. And what led you to this stunning change of policy? I thought you treated all your guests with such welcoming rooms," he sneered, waltzing past him to sit on the corner of the desk and lift a cigar from a vintage box to smell.

"Your minor cooperation for a start," Bruce shot back, now crossing his arms as he watched the bird peruse the office as if it were a novelty.

"Oh, MY cooperation is it? Need I remind you who it was who continually bashed whose head against a stone wall? Who ra-"

"Yes yes there's that too… I was… in the wrong…" He cut Crane off, which made the other hiss with anger.

Scarecrow snapped the cigar in two in a moment of slipped control, "Excuse me? Is that how you phrase it? 'In the wrong'? Are you a crime fighter or are you NOT? What would you do to a rapist? Or does your protection only fall upon the innocent? Do point out to me an adult in this dirt hole of a city ONE who is innocent! You! You the SAVIOR! You the KNIGHT! You the DESTROYER!" he was fuming, his voice rising to ear splitting proportions.

Bruce had his hands up trying to calm him, but the Scarecrow was not one to back down on principles. "You wrecked our mind irrevocably, betrayed us, and violated us! 'In the wrong' indeed! There's as little you can do to repent as there is for us!"

"Do you want to repent?" Bruce asked him quietly.

"Never…" he hissed, as Jonathan began bubbling back to the surface, trying to calm down. That hadn't gone so well… He certainly hadn't intended to enter a yelling match with the big bad bat. But it was nice to see he came back to awareness without having his head bashed in like watermelons after baseball practice.

"I am … tired," he mumbled, sinking into a comfy leather chair and curling up.

Bruce stood to lay a blanket over him, but stopped as Crane gave him the usual 'touch me and die' face. He didn't want to be touched or pampered by anyone, let alone the cause of his current state.

"Let me tell you now: This doesn't mean I'm not going to kill you," he warned the detective.

"Yeah, well I guess that means I can't promise I won't punch you in the face either."

Crane's eyes narrowed but it seemed a suitable arrangement. At least wandering would give him a revamped layout of the new mansion and help in his eventual escape. But for now, he just wanted to rest right here, not boxed up in a cell or his 'guest room'. It felt more like he had half a choice.

He sat in silence with Bruce keeping a respectable distance, both pretending Not to be completely, 100% aware of every adjustment or sniffle the other made. That is, until Jonathan's body betrayed him with a low rumble in his stomach. Face flaming pink, he tried to stand up and play it off as the chair groaning.

Bruce wasn't fooled and chuckled. "Why don't you go find some clothes, and I'll see what Alfred has whipped up for breakfast."

"Why don't you shrivel up and die," Scarecrow snipped at him. Jonathan hunched up his shoulders and quickly strode from the room to save some of his pride. He wouldn't be told what to do like some hungry toddler. He could eat in this fluffy robe if he damn well pleased!

... Okay that did seem… too juvenile…

He shifted his course for his designated room.

* * *

On the bed, he found something that gave him conflicted feelings. First, there were new clothes laid out, as if he couldn't choose what to wear himself. Second, there was no vest… a must have in his clothing repertoire. However, he supposed there was a benefit on the other hand, being that they weren't two times too big or sporting any teams or logos on them. It must be Alfred once more.

That old man…

Jonathan shook his head and examined the clothing for more than a few minutes. He couldn't help that he was picky. He chose his clothes with care, no matter how little money he'd had to spend. He stroked the material of the pants, finding them acceptable enough, if a little bit tight looking, and certainly more youthful than his preferred professional trousers.

After his thorough inspection, he began shrugging out of his robe just as Bruce knocked and entered in his usual fashion – without waiting for permission – and got a nice eyeful of silky skin. Killer ice blue eyes turned to give him the glare of death, so Bruce smartly ducked back out, calling to him, "Alfred made pancakes!"

"The fuck do I care! Don't come in here or I'll rip your head off!" Shrieked Scarecrow, now feeling incredibly wound up. Bruce needed to LEAVE His Jonny bird alone!

Standing at the doorway, indignant that Bruce had once more invaded his privacy for no real reason whatsoever, Jonathan shot the retreating back of the bat an imaginary dagger, or two, or seventy. It grated on his already worn thin patience. How many other ways could that fool devise to humiliate him?

And maybe it was embarrassing to be caught in the nude, repeatedly, for someone who so valued his modesty and rarely had encounters of the sexual kind. Did Bruce not have enough decorum to leave him a shred of dignity? The answer was at this point – No.

Donning his new garb, and tugging at the navy blue sweater sleeves to hide his scars best he could, the mental-duo made way for the kitchen to feed a still grumbling belly.

He found breakfast, not in the kitchen, but again at the long dining table, set up exactly as it had been the evening prior (much to his and his mental room mate's disgust).

"Is there a practical reason to dine for two at a table fit for thirty?" He scoffed as he sat down, trying not to look pleased by his berry filled pancakes.

"There isn't exactly a room designated for casual dining. I usually eat at my desk or in the lounge-"

"Then I'd prefer to eat there, this table makes me want to break something," he stood, lifting his plate and walking haughtily out of the room.

Bruce sat blinking at the empty spot for a moment, before lifting his plate and bringing along the syrup and coffee. He found Jonathan already sitting by the fireplace, delicately cutting his pancakes into miniscule, equally sized pieces. Bruce wondered if there was anyone more anally retentive than Crane to be found anywhere!

He chanced flipping on the television for some news, knowing full well he was chancing something that might make the other explode. However he was tired of ruining his morning routines just to accommodate his unwilling guest.

Crane didn't seem to mind. In fact he was still so removed from time he was shocked to see the date at the corner of the screen and did some mental calculations. "You've cost me a surprising number of days of my life…" was all he said, before turning back to regard the weather report, while his mind whirled about all he'd been through since that ill fated day Bruce came to the library.

Was it really that long ago – over two months – that he'd been free to go where he pleased? Free to drink and eat and bathe and sleep when he wanted? Free from being used for other's sick pleasures or jokes?

It was therefore, a bit overwhelming to suddenly be sitting here as if he were a real guest, and not a prisoner. Truly, what had caused Bruce to shift his treatment so drastically? Could their conversation really have given Bruce reason to give him this modest resemblance to freedom?

He didn't see how… but he couldn't help but feel … grateful? No. That would imply it was a privilege to be treated like a damn human being and not a right. No, he felt… relief, he decided. Yes relief would do.

At least the shadows and flapping of wings had subsided enough to achieve some sense of clarity in the waking world. Somehow he must ensure he didn't lose this loosening of the leash until he discovered a way out. And swiftly following, would be a vicious vengeance upon both Bat and Clown. Right? _Right._

Both would have to wait until he could walk, or preferably run, more than 50 feet before feeling like he might drop dead from blood loss or pain in his lower regions. His shower this morning and subsequent investigation of himself in the mirror had revealed to himself the ghastly state of his body. If his living conditions here stayed on this less violent course, perhaps he ought to milk it for a while to heal and improve his physical and mental health.

Besides, Bruce had access to the drugs he needed to keep the visions away, and without his carefully assembled identity as Edward Pierce at hand, he was not certain how he would quietly acquire the medications in a short time span. Perhaps he could steal a large enough dosage from the bat to last him a while? That was if he could find where Bruce kept it and if he kept enough on hand to begin with.

'Fear not, Johnny bird, all in due time…' Scarecrow soothed him. It would not do for Jonathan to stew in these thoughts so long and hard. He needed to relax. Together they would sort things out, but for now, rest.

He had forgotten to eat in the time he was thinking, and cut himself off from the world. In fact, he had sat lost in his head for so long Bruce was a bit concerned. He reached across the space between them and waved a hand, effectively causing Jonathan to jump and nearly lose his plate. He flushed and gave him a scathing look.

"Jonathan, are you… do you need another treatment?" Bruce frowned, actually sounding worried. He had no background in mental health or how to treat… Crane's unique problem. He would have to rely on the Doctor knowing what he needed and when.

"I am fine. However, a nightly dosage would do well if possible…" he said slowly, watching Bruce for acceptance.

Bruce only nodded. "You will have to tell me. Unless I call someone from Arkham, I wouldn't know what to-"

"They threw everything together that could possibly work to send me into an unresponsive state for their own safety and to not have to deal with me. They do not know what I am, or how to fix the damage done. But they do not, could not ever understand. They would only seek to make me numb and dumb for the rest of my sorry existence. There is one they have called who wishes to dissect my brain, but I trust him not. He would destroy me…." He rambled, brows knitting up, "The point is, you cannot differ to Arkham. I will tell you what I need."

Bruce was quiet, interested by his small speech that hadn't included any threats or insults, but instead insights into Jonathan's evaluation of himself.

"You say they can't treat you properly… Is it because they cannot work around the toxin's damage?" He proposed slowly, and gently to show Crane he wasn't looking for a fight. "I gave them the cure we used during –" he left off. Crane knew he meant during the narrows poisoning.

"It is not just that. My toxin is complicated." He narrowed his eyes at Bruce, as Scarecrow cautioned him not to reveal too much. They could never divulge enough that someone might seek to eliminate Scarecrow. They were one in the same, yet separate entities. They were symbiotic, and one without the other would be a truly miserable, short existence. "The dosage I had in my canister at that time… It was concentrated… It would have destroyed her mind had you not had the so-called cure. But as you raced to save that swine's pathetic life, you left me there," his voice became quiet with a rage that could only be described as a the quiet before a volcanic eruption.

Bruce thought better than to respond with a would be, 'you can deal but can't take?' Instead, he merely frowned. "I assumed it was a-"

"Dose of my own medicine? Oh indeed," Jonathan smirked slowly like the Cheshire cat. "Did you stick a bomb inside the joker? Perhaps rub his face in alcohol and light him on fire? No? Oh dear, it certainly seems you have a tendency to deal only ME your eye-for-an-eye policy. You know, shooting the man who shot your parents would have been kinder and more justice than what you have done to me. And yet a part of me, almost thanks you. It has, expanded my mind, as one might say. If not for the hallucinations that could send me into cardiac arrest, I might even be happy for it!" he chuckled.

Scarecrow was nodding in the background. Boy his Johnny could weave good reasoning around selling sand to an Egyptian. And all he said was true. The gas had served to loose him from his chains and allow him to become more alive than ever before.

The one problem was the mental stress and damage the hallucinations and terror had on his dearest baby bird. It ripped his mind apart, no matter how Scarecrow tried to wrap his arms around it all and hold him together. And it was… scary… He was afraid. For the end of Jonathan would spell the end for Scarecrow. But a cure… a cure might also put him back in chains… Or worse, erase him all together. And neither of them desired that outcome. So it wasn't like he was being selfish.

It was a big problem. One they only trusted Jonathan to solve. No one else.

"What of this person you mentioned… the one that wants to take a look at you?" Bruce asked.

"Oh, you can ask Arkham if it pleases you. I believe he is currently taking over my old job. No matter how acclaimed he is, allow me to clear any doubts." He leaned forward to whisper, "It may take one to know one, but the one who will assume the throne of Arkham is a monster in disguise."

* * *

God I hope you all don't hate me for abandoning you so long! No excuses, but between searching for a job (got one CHA!) and my grandfather passing, I've had a lot on my plate. I no longer have my trusty laptop and now have to sit in this ass killing chair to write and to be honest, it ish not fun. But I have gotten so many pokes and pms, supporting me and my story that I couldn't put it off any longer, and I promise the updates are now back in full swing! Look forward to the next chapter, and as always, I welcome your critiques and suggestions.

To one critique-er - Thank you for your comments about the repetition of their relationship, going round and round with beatings. Yes, as I hope I've shown here, things ARE going to move on in new and exciting directions. Who is running Arkham now? What has he to do with Jonathan? Why won't Jonny talk about Raz? How are they linked? Will they has not angry sex? :3 You'll find out I swear!


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